


warm nights turn to winter (stayed too long in endless summer)

by bravestyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overdose, Recovery, Rehabilitation, minor descriptions of drug related things, some offhanded mentions of suicidal thoughts that arent meant to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: Harry has a heroin addiction, and Louis doesn't know how much longer he can stay.AU. Harry is famous, Louis is not.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 51
Kudos: 283





	warm nights turn to winter (stayed too long in endless summer)

**Author's Note:**

> title: shivers - joseph
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not claiming any of this to be true. Also, you might want to suspend your disbelief about some events that occur in this fic; I did do research on this topic, but also took inspiration from tv, and as we all know tv doesn't always accurately portray these types of things. 
> 
> hope you like it :)

They've been together for five years, and Louis still can't look at Harry when he does it. 

He thought that as the years went by, he'd get, like, desensitized to it somehow. And he is, in some ways; he doesn't get angry as much anymore -- he's far too tired for that -- and he doesn't ask many questions, and he just turns his head to the side when Harry pulls out a syringe and a tie, because it's become harder for him to find veins as easily recently. But Louis will never not cringe when he catches sight of the needle hanging from his skin, or be worried about the fact Harry shoots up every four hours. Years ago, he only used every six or seven hours. 

And the thing Louis will never, ever lose is how guilty he feels over this whole mess. It's unfair on him, he knows that; he has nothing to do with why Harry uses, or how he got started, but guilt is never not clutching painfully around his heart. He's his boyfriend, yet he looks the other way whenever Harry uses. He should grab the needle from his hand and throw it across the room, not sit back and let it happen. It makes him feel awful. But what can he do? Harry knows full well Louis disapproves of it like mad. He knows that it scares Louis shitless. And that's not enough, so Louis' doesn't know what would be. 

He overdosed, once. A long time ago. Only five months into their relationship. Louis had known about his addiction -- Harry had told him two months prior, and Louis felt sick.  _ I just think you need to know _ , Harry said. _ I feel like we’re really good, you know? And I don’t wanna mess it up by not being honest. _ His new boyfriend was not only a heroin addict, but he was such a heroin addict that he can act perfectly normal while high, normal enough that Louis had no idea for so long. But knowing about it and seeing Harry slumped over in the living room chair, arm outstretched with a needle still clinging to his skin, are two very, very different things. 

Louis ran over and touched him, and he thought for sure he was dead based on the way his skin felt cold, but he wasn't. His pulse was faint, but there. So Louis called for an ambulance and tried desperately to wake Harry. And then at the hospital, Harry's manager, Nick, came in and chewed him out. 

"He's an international popstar," he hissed, motioning to Harry, who was sitting up in a hospital bed, having the decency to look guilty. "You don't call the bloody ambulance unless I tell you to."

Louis had scoffed. "He was  _ dying, _ Jesus, you think I was just -- "

"If it gets out that he's a junkie, he's over," Nick interrupted, looking stern. "I can't have that happen, not when he has so much potential. So if this happens again -- which, news flash, love, it probably will -- you call me, and I'll send a doctor over, or call a car to take him in,  _ discreetly _ ."

Nick truly isn't as awful as he had seemed at first. He was trying to shake Louis off, trying to break the trance he had Harry in, but it didn't work, and Louis proved himself not a distraction, so Nick gave up and stopped being terrible all the time. Nick and Harry are best mates, fucking family. He has Harry's best interest at heart, even if it never seems like it. Even if Nick's the reason Harry got hooked in the first place. 

If Louis thinks too hard about it, it overwhelms him. One minute he was living in Doncaster and venturing out to America every once in a while, minding his business, and the next he was splattered on every magazine cover and living in LA with his popstar boyfriend who was overworked and used heroin to cope. But Louis wouldn't change any of it, he wouldn't. 

He's pretty sure, at least. 

-

"My darling boyfriend is backstage, and he's massively jet-lagged and it's way past his bedtime, so you guys need to scream really loud to help me keep him awake, okay?"

God, he's an idiot. A talented, stunning massive idiot. He's shooting Louis a giant, toothy grin, looking absolutely giddy with being able to express his puppy love. Not only is Louis the only person Harry's ever been publicly and openly involved with, but he's the reason why Harry came out and confirmed he liked men. 

He came out during a small radio interview, unplanned. Nick had given him the go ahead to do it months ago, but he was too scared, and then all the sudden Harry was finally saying it for all the world to hear. 

"We saw you had pride flags at your show again," the radio host had said. "That seems to be a recurring theme in your shows, am I right in saying that?"

Louis was sitting off-screen, bored and playing pool with Nick on his phone. They both glanced up in time to see Harry tense. All three of them know exactly where this is going. They pretend to be interested and nice, and then they switch it up and ask Harry about his sexuality like they have any right in knowing. 

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Harry said, smiling tightly. "I'd like to think my shows are somewhere people can be open and feel safe and accepted."

"But it always brings up the question about your own sexuality. People think -- some people think maybe that you feel, um, personally attached, let's say, to the movement."

Nick was already bored and taking his turn, so he didn't see the way Harry's smile faded and his eyebrows furrowed before he glanced at Louis nervously. He looked back at the radio host and cleared his throat, and Louis grabbed Nick's forearm. 

"He's about to do it," Louis whispered, chest tight. "He's about to bloody do it."

"Do what?" Nick asked, but before he could even finish, Harry was shrugging stiffly and saying, "I mean, yeah. They'd be right, I suppose. I'm, um, -- I like men, like." He laughed quietly. "I'm sure nobody's exactly shocked, but."

That'd been three and a half years ago, and now here Harry is, beaming at Louis from center stage and calling him his boyfriend. 

Harry tears his gaze away from Louis and looks back at the thousands of screaming fans in the audience. He's grinning still when he says, "Alright, everyone. This one isn't in the setlist, but it's his favorite, so here's 'Sweet Creature'. And I mean it, Chicago: scream as loud as you can."

Louis' heart nearly bursts in his chest, and Zayn, one of Harry's best friends and one of his supporting acts for Harry's last three tours, comes up behind him and slings an arm around his shoulders and sighs dramatically. 

"You've corrupted him, Tomlinson. He used to be such a slut, and now look at him."

Louis laughs and pushes at Zayn's side. He hates it, but there's a blush clinging to his cheeks. He can't help the way being loved by Harry makes him feel. 

-

That night on the tour bus that Harry hates but stays in because Louis likes, Louis' tucked away in the corner, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. Nick, Zayn, Harry and a few of the crew members are squished around the table, playing a game of cards and shooting up and smoking weed. It makes Louis want to cry, a little bit. All these people use heroin every other day, and yet only the person he really cares about is properly addicted to it. He doesn't get how the others feel so okay with enabling him.

He's texting his sister, trying to take his mind off it all. That's all he can really do anymore. Pretend it's not happening.  _ hey, mum told me you had your first client today. howd everything go??? _ Lottie's trying to become a makeup artist, and Louis wants so desperately to ignore her objections about posting her account on his Instagram to get a little more attention her way. He has just over two million followers, which pales in comparison to Harry's forty million, but still. He wants to be able to help his little sister. 

_ can't talk right now, i'll ring you later.  _

Louis sighs. She won't. He's been living in LA for a few years and ever since he moved, they've not been as close. It's not even like she's mad at him, they just. . . don't have much to talk about anymore, it seems. And it breaks his goddamn heart, because his little sisters used to idolize him and now he only talks to them maybe once a week. 

He's sacrificed so much for Harry, and sometimes it seems like Harry doesn't realize it. Which is stupid, because Harry's lost twice as much as him, but still. Louis' feeling awfully prickly right now, and being angry at Harry is the only thing that seems justified. 

He slips off to the bed at the back of the bus without a word. He lays there for a long, long time, waiting for Harry to come to bed with him. He's tired, and he knows Harry's exhausted, and there's no way Harry didn't see him leave so he hopes Harry will just stop doing stupid shit and come go to sleep with him. 

It's not until three in the morning, two and a half hours later, that Harry comes stumbling into the room. Harry squirms his way next to Louis, and Louis lays there stiffly, doing his best to remain calm. 

Harry reeks like alcohol, which -- they weren't drinking while Louis was sitting out there. He knows they weren't, because if he had seen even an unopened can of beer around them, he would've spoken up. You're really, really not supposed to mix heroin with alcohol. And now Harry smells like he does when he comes back from a cheap bar. 

"How much have you had to drink?" His voice shakes with anger, even though he doesn't mean it to. 

Harry doesn't say anything, is quiet in the way he gets when he's feeling guilty and he knows he's fucked up. "I'll be fine," he says after a while, and Louis chokes out a mix between a laugh and a sob. 

"Lou, Lou, I'll be okay," Harry whispers hurriedly. He curls up behind his back and wraps his arms around Louis' middle, rests his head between Louis' shoulders. "I only had a few shots, okay? I'll be fine." 

Louis doesn't respond, just fights back tears silently. He rarely asks anything from Harry when it comes to shit like this, but he's asked him so many times not to take other things on top of the heroin. And it's so confusing, because Harry is normally overly considerate and desperate to please Louis, but it's like as soon as it comes to heroin, the rules change.  _ He  _ changes. Louis hates it so, so much. 

Harry falls asleep quickly, because he's definitely had more than a few shots and he can never stay up long after a night of drinking. And Louis tries to fall asleep too, tries not to care, but he's too paranoid that Harry's going to die in his sleep that he can't. 

-

Nick never discourages Harry from using drugs until it starts affecting his work. It makes Louis' stomach twists in disgust -- that's Nick best friend, for Christ's sake, he's worth more than a paycheck -- but he also doesn't say anything because at least someone else is finally agreeing with Louis. 

"You're hungover, okay, I get it," Nick is saying. He's next to Louis in the middle seat of a car taking them to the venue, bent over Harry as he's helping him find a vein. Nick's always good at that. The idea of Nick feeling around and digging his fingers into Harry's arms in an attempt to find veins makes him squeamish, so like always, he's looking the other way, praying that these windows are as tinted as they look. 

"But if you can't get through an interview without making it completely obvious you're still wasted, let me know beforehand, yeah?" Harry hisses loudly, and Nick scoffs quietly. "Calm down. That didn't hurt."

"You didn't even give me a warning," Harry argues, and from the corner of his eye, Louis sees Nick roll his eyes and toss the used needle at Harry's chest. Harry shoves it into the side compartment of the car, not caring about who has to take care of it later. 

Nick sighs and slumps back into his seat. "The entirety of America saw you pretty much wasted on Good Morning America."

"It wasn't Good Morning America, Nick, I -- "

"Same thing. Whatever. Not important. Just don't be surprised when I take out a few thousand dollars from your bank account to go donate to some charity or fans' gofundme pages, as damage control. And Louis, before you leave tomorrow, you two need to take a cute couple's photo and post it on Harry's Instagram."

Louis just nods, numb to all the popstar shenanigans by now, while Harry huffs out a breath. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't use our relationship for publicity. I don't want to make a show of our love for some bloody damage control."

Nick closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't get it. 'Relationship Troubles Leads Harry Styles to Drink?' 'Rocky Times For Harry and Louis -- Is This the End?' 'Inside Harry Styles' Spiral: Drinking, Fighting, Breakups?'" He gives Harry a fake smile. "Sound like something you want to go through? That you want to put  _ him _ through?"

"Hey," Louis interjects, mildly offended. "I'm not fragile. I can handle the press."

Nick opens his eyes and raises his eyebrows at him, and Harry interrupts him before he can say whatever snarky comment he was going to spit Louis' way. 

"No more drinking too late at night," Harry agrees, nodding. "Okay. I get it. I messed up. But I'm not sure it was as noticeable as you're making it out to be."

Nick shoots him a glare. "You sang the wrong words to a single you've been singing since the beginning of your career, and you didn't know what day it was. You weren't fooling anyone."

" _ Okay _ ," Harry relents, sounding more irritated than he usually gets with Nick. "I'll be more careful. And me and Lou will take the bloody photo, I don't care."

The photo they post is a simple photo of their shadows kissing. It's a little forced, but you can't tell that from the photo. It looks nice and sweet and cozy, and Louis has a hard time matching up the end result with how much work went into taking the photo. There were three different people, one to angle them just right, one to adjust the lighting, and one to actually take the picture. Harry and Louis were probably standing there, their lips pressed together, for ten minutes or so. They had finally got a good shot, and then they sent it to Nick and he said Harry's nose looks oddly big, take a different one, so then it took another ten minutes for them to somehow figure out how to make Harry's nose look smaller in the photo.

When they were done, they exchanged the same tired look, and Harry nodded and grabbed his wrist and led him down some hallways before they wound up on the roof. 

"This is so cliche," Louis mumbles, lowering himself down to the gravel. Harry does the same, and winces as his expensive Gucci pants he wore during the show scratches against the ground. He bumps his shoulder against Louis'. 

"It's supposed to be romantic."

Louis laughs quietly, but doesn't take the piss out of him. Harry's trying. He feels like he's messed up somehow, and he's trying to fix it. Or he's sad about Louis going home tomorrow, which Louis is too, but he's been missing his mum like crazy lately and he doesn't mind missing the mid-west portion of the States. He'll be back before Harry goes to Texas, though, because Texas has fucking amazing food. 

"Maybe, like." Harry stops to clear his throat, and it sounds heavy. Louis glances at him, and Harry looks near tears. Immediately, Louis reaches out to grab his hand and squeezes, hard. 

"Love," he says, concerned. Harry hasn't done anything to be this upset over, and yeah, it sucks that Louis' leaving, but he'll be right back in two weeks. They've gone longer without seeing each other, so it's not that. 

Harry shakes his head and crosses his legs. He puts their intertwined hands on his knee and runs his thumb over Louis' knuckles. "Maybe after this tour, I'll finally go. Like, to rehab, I mean."

Louis instantly pulls away, because no, Harry won't. Harry promises he will, and it's always 'after this tour, promise' and it never, ever happens. Louis stopped being so trusting after the second time Harry promised him that. And it makes his heart ache, knowing that Harry wants to be sober. Maybe it'd be easier if Harry didn't care he was a heroin addict, if he was in denial. But no, Harry is fully aware he's an addict, and although he usually doesn't care, there are times he does. 

"No, no, I'm serious this time," Harry says, sounding desperate. He grabs Louis' hand again and clutches onto him with both hands. "I've made you upset so many times on this tour, and I hate it. I hate it, okay? I can get clean, I know I can. I'm not that addicted to it, it shouldn't be too hard."

Louis clenches his jaw and looks down. He's not even holding Harry's hand back, just letting his flop between Harry's. He won't let himself get his hopes up again. Harry's just saying this all because he's scared Louis' had enough of him and won't come back once he realizes how much he misses England and doesn't want to leave. 

"You're so dependent on it, Haz. If you can't see that, I don't. . . I don't know what to tell you."

Harry sighs, and before he can argue or say something else, Louis shakes his head sternly. He's not going to let Harry do this. He's so sick of having this conversation. 

"You're never going to go to rehab," Louis whispers, looking down. "You're never going to, love. You don't -- you can't just keep promising me you're going to do it, because we both know you won't. We both know it, so please don't do that."

Harry crowds into him, wraps his arms around Louis from behind and hugs him, whispers over and over that he will this time, that this time he'll actually go through it, that he's sorry and he knows he's shit. 

"You're not shit," Louis mumbles, almost mechanically. Harry lets out a breath against his neck. 

"I'm scared that you're gonna give up on me, Louis. Or that you're not happy with me anymore. I don't know which one is worse, you leaving me or you staying with me even though you're unhappy."

Louis does grip Harry's hand back then, fiercely. He doesn't like knowing Harry is scared of that. Louis has no intentions of leaving, and he's still happy with Harry, he is. He adores him, and Harry adores him twice as much back, and they go out into random cities and fuck around and have so much fucking fun that it leaves Louis breathless sometimes. Yeah, he sometimes focuses on the negatives, but that's only because the negatives are so fucking easy to focus on.

"I'm so happy with you, Harry, you have no idea. I promise you that."

Harry nods hurriedly into his shoulder. Louis suspects he might be crying. 

"I'm serious, okay? I love you. So much." He debates his next words before thinking  _ fuck it _ . It's not like it's a secret. "I still fully plan to marry you, you know."

"God," Harry whispers. He presses a kiss to Louis' shoulder and squeezes him tightly. "I want that so bad. I promise I'll propose eventually, okay?" They both laugh quietly. "I just -- I want to be sober for our wedding. I've been wanting to, like, ask you for a while now, but not before I'm sober. I can't do that to us."

Heat coils around Louis' throat, leaving him too choked to speak, so he just nods. He didn't know Harry wanted to propose already, and he didn't know the only thing stopping him from doing so was his addiction. The determination in his voice breathes a new wave of hope throughout Louis, though. Harry hasn't sounded that determined about getting help in a long time, probably not since he overdosed. 

-

Harry proposes a year later, in a quiet park in Doncaster, twenty five minutes after shooting up in Louis' mother's bathroom. 

-

Defeat starts creeping up on Louis during April, four months before their wedding. Well, six months now, because Nick's insisted that they push it back so Harry can host some fashion event. Harry had fought him on it, but Nick won in the end, like always. 

"You can have a Halloween wedding now," Nick says, grinning. "Dress up as pumpkins, and all that."

Harry glances at Louis. "Maybe we should push it back to December? Have a winter wedding. . . Might be pretty."

Louis shrugs and glances out the window. He doesn't care what the weather is like outside when they have the ceremony, he just wants to get fucking married already. Harry proposed seven months ago, and they already have all their wedding plans in order. That's easier to do, apparently, when you have money flowing out of your arse. 

Nick taps on his phone a few times before shaking his head. "No, you're doing that December shoot for Gucci in Italy, remember? You can't blow off Gucci."

"I can for my wedding."

Nick makes a face. "No, you can't. You signed the contracts and everything already."

"Nick, please," Harry hisses quietly, clearly trying to convey how much he's hurting Louis. But it's too late, because Louis already feels like -- not even second best. Maybe third. Under heroin and his career, there's Louis, waiting for his wedding like a trophy wife. 

God. This is going to be the rest of his life. Waiting around to do things until Harry has time. He'll forever be living on someone else's schedule, and that doesn't sit right with him anymore. He can't handle being third in Harry's life, not when they're about to get married. Supposedly, anyway. 

"Just give me a date and I'll be there," Louis mumbles, faking indifference. He stands and excuses himself, goes out to the backyard to clear his head. He catches Harry debating coming outside to talk to him after about ten minutes later, but he decides against it and turns away. 

Louis is glad he didn't come outside, so he doesn't really know why he's crying. 

-

It's May, and they're back in Holmes Chapel for Mother's Day. At least, it's Mother's Day in the United States. Nobody -- not even Robin, who usually tries to avoid talking about anything serious during family gatherings -- is blind to the fact that this is just Harry missing home and being too ashamed to admit it. 

Harry's got it in his head that he asked for all this, all the bad parts that come from fame. And in some ways, he did. He knew what the possibilities were when he auditioned for the X-Factor. He knew that if things went well, he'd never have an ounce of privacy for the rest of his life. But that doesn't mean you have to be so accepting of it, or that you have to try and hide how you're actually feeling. He certainly doesn't deserve it, but Harry doesn't see the line between fans and over-entitled brats, and it takes a toll on him from time to time. 

He hides that, too. Tries to, anyway. 

The day with Harry's family goes well, just like it always does. Harry's family loves him, and Louis genuinely feels like they've become part of his family. There's not a single person in Harry's family that Louis has to pretend to like. They're all kind-hearted and funny and love fiercely, and Louis loves them. He loves them all. 

After dinner, Harry goes upstairs to shower, leaving Louis downstairs to finish up a puzzle they started with Anne and Gemma. It's all going fine, up until they hear the water turn on. 

Anne lets out a deep breath and sets down the puzzle piece she is holding. She folds her arms and sets her elbows on the table, leaning towards Louis. "He told me he got clean. But he's not, is he? He doesn't look sober."

Louis pulls back, confused. He doesn't know what to say. If he tells her the truth, he's exposing Harry as a liar, and if he lies, he's just as bad as Harry. Once he thinks it through, it's an obvious choice: if anyone lied to Louis about Harry's sobriety, he'd wage a war. 

"He's not," he admits. He tries to push down the guilt that's bubbling in his throat. "I didn't know he told you that, but he's not."

Gemma and Anne exchange a heartbroken look, and Gemma clenches her jaw. "He told us in March that he wasn't using anymore. He said he wanted to be sober for when he proposed, which -- "

"He told me the same thing a year ago, but he never actually did it. He was high as fuck when he proposed to me." Anger curls around his heart. He understands that Harry's ashamed of himself, but that doesn't give him the right to lie to his family about something Louis wanted so badly to be true. 

Anne looks devastated and livid all at once. "We should've bloody known he was lying," she says, glancing at Gemma. "He's not trustworthy anymore, he's not -- I didn't raise a liar. I didn't raise him to be like this, God. I never wanted this for him."

Louis agrees with her so, so much. He wants to just give in, sit here and talk shit about Harry, tell them all the shitty things Harry's done because of heroin, but he can't do that. He wants to, but he can't. Harry's his fiancé, and he's an addict. He doesn't want to be like this. Louis won't go as far to say he can't help it, but he has to at least try and protect him. His mum being mad at him will just make Harry fall deeper in his addiction, anyway. 

"He's probably in the bathroom getting high right now," Gemma whispers, and Anne looks like she's about to explode, so Louis intervenes. 

"He's trying," he says cautiously. They give him a scandalized look, and Louis quickly continues. "I think -- I think if he was living any other life, he would be sober by now, but guys -- he's a popstar. An international celebrity. It's hard even thinking about being sober when everyone,  _ everyone _ , around him is high or drinking around him. Everyone around him enables him."

"Like Nick Grimshaw?" Anne asks, shaking her head. "Yeah, Harry has told me about him. That he's his  _ supplier _ , and all that. He should fire him, he should fire them _ all _ . He deserves a team who cares about him."

"Nick's his best mate," he reminds gently. "That'll never happen. And Nick would one-hundred percent support Harry getting sober, he would, I know it. He's too worried about losing Harry as a client to encourage it, but if Harry came to him and said he wanted to get sober, Nick would help him. Nick's not a bad person."

Gemma shakes her head, clearly disagreeing. She doesn't mention it. "So how do we get him sober? How do we get him to  _ want _ to be sober?"

"We've had this conversation so many times before," Louis says quietly. He doesn't want to have it again. He doesn't want to try and come up with a plan with Gemma and Anne that'll just fall flat and leave Harry wounded and scared. He can't help someone who doesn't want to help themselves, as cruel and cliche that is. "He has to realize in his own time what he's doing to himself. We can't force him to."

Anne furrows his eyebrows. "It's been this long already. There's nothing left that hasn't already happened to open up his eyes."

Louis sinks back further into his chair. He doesn't understand how they don't see there's no fucking hope in this situation anymore. The road from here on out is just  _ bad _ . "If he overdoses again, it might wake him up."

"God, Louis, don't say that," Anne whispers, sounding horrified. 

"Of course I don't want him to, Jesus. I'm just saying -- if he overdoses again, or if he fucks something up with his career because of this, or if the heroin finally starts eating away at his body enough, then maybe he'll realize how much he's hurting himself. But besides that, I don't know what else could open his eyes."

The water turns off. They all fall silent. Just as they hear Harry's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, Gemma whispers, "He's never going to get sober, is he?"

Louis shakes his head. "I really don't think so. And I'm sorry for not being enough to get him to stop."

Anne opens her mouth to object to that, but before she can, Harry's appearing in the doorway, hair dripping wet and pupils the size of pinpricks.

They left in a hurry that night, because Anne couldn't hold in her anger anymore and she finally burst. She exploded on Harry like a grenade, and Harry, predictably, ran the other direction. 

"I'm not a fucking kid anymore," Harry had shouted at her. He was so angry. So defensive. "You don't get a fucking opinion on what I do."

"You're still my son, Harry. And I didn't raise you to become some -- some _ junkie _ . I raised you better than that."

That had cut Harry deep, Louis could tell. "Well I'm sorry I'm such a fucking disappointment. I'm sorry that this fucking house I bought you isn't enough. I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up that you don't feel proud of me, but good thing you have Gemma for that, right?" 

He had demanded that they leave right then and there, and Louis only obliged because Harry was far too frantic to drive himself. 

In the car, Harry rifles through his suitcase in search of something while Louis drives back to London. As soon as Harry pulls out the plastic bag he keeps his stuff in, Louis grabs his forearm and squeezes as gently as possible when he's this overwhelmed. 

"You just used not even two hours ago, Harry, don't over do it."

Harry yanks himself free from Louis and ignores him. He's spiraling, and all Louis can do is hope that he doesn't get any worse. 

"Please, H. Please just put it away."

"I'll be fine, Christ, what is with you all today?"

He pulls out the lighter and spoon, and Louis' head is spinning so fast with panic by now that it's not safe for him to be driving. 

"Harry, Harry, I'm not kidding, put it away. Put it  _ away _ . Wait at least another two hours." He turns his head enough to see Harry not paying him any attention, to see him pouring the powder on the spoon. Louis looks back at the road -- they're not even off of Anne's street yet -- and stops in the middle of the street. 

Harry glances up to see they're stopped. "Jesus, Louis. Just drive." He looks at Louis expectantly, and when Louis doesn't move, Harry rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. "People can see us. These windows aren't tinted."

Louis barely processes what he's doing until he has his engagement ring on his right palm. Harry's irritation is replaced with fear as he stares down at it, and Louis scares himself with how viciously he thinks _ good _ . 

"I'm not wearing this until you're sober," he snaps. He holds it out for Harry to take, but Harry just keeps staring at it, eyes wide. After a few moments, he tears his gaze from the ring to Louis' face. 

"People will notice," he says, sounding breathless. "We already announced it, if you take it off -- "

And Louis' never felt so fucking angry before in his entire goddamn life, so he's not familiar with the way he wants to destroy everything. He throws the ring at Harry and grabs the shit off his lap, shoves it all back into his suitcase. While Louis' busy angrily shoving Harry's suitcase into the backseat, he accidentally takes his foot off the brake and the car rolls forward. 

"Louis, Lou, be careful, Louis -- "

"I got it," Louis snaps, ignoring how scared he feels. He slams on the brake and they jerk forward and backward until the car is stopped again. Louis keeps his foot firmly planted on the brake as he gives Harry's suitcase one final shove before it finally falls to the floor of the backseat, and then he turns back around and starts driving again like nothing's the matter. 

Harry looks terrified in the passenger seat. There's no other word for it.

It's completely quiet in the car for the next ten miles or so, until Louis finally spits out, "I'm not asking for much. I'm asking you to get help, to stop being a fucking heroin addict, and you're acting like it's completely absurd."

"Please wear your ring."

Louis groans and flicks on his blinker roughly. He scoffs before saying, "Why? Are you really that afraid your fans will notice that it's gone? They haven't fucking realized you're a  _ heroin _ addict, Harry, a bloody heroin addict. I doubt they'll see a missing ring."

"I don't care about them," Harry whispers. "I don't know why I said that. I don't care if they notice or not, but I care about you. I want you to wear it because you love me. You can't just take it back because you're mad at me."

Louis gnaws on his bottom lip while Harry talks, and when he's done, he shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you. I'm too tired to be mad. But I'm not going to lie, Harry. I'm  _ this _ fucking close to walking away from all of this."

He hasn't said that out loud before. He hasn't even thought about it before, so it startles him how much he means it. Something about getting proposed to by someone who was freshly high just flicked a switch in his head, and as shit gets even more complicated -- their wedding date got moved again, Harry's taking on even more new projects, Louis is getting sick of being on the road all the time -- the light gets brighter and brighter. 

Harry doesn't say anything, which is probably best. Louis doesn't even look at him until an hour later, and when he does, Harry's got his face pressed against the cool window, tears running down his cheeks, with Louis' ring sitting on his pinky finger. It's too small to go past his first knuckle, but he keeps it there anywhere. 

For a fraction of a second, Louis feels bad, and then the feeling disappears. 

-

Like always, things level out. Louis calms down, Harry goes back to trying to be more subtle about him using, and they're good again. It's a kind of cycle they go through; Louis can't take being a bystander anymore and explodes, Harry apologizes and does his best to keep anything to do with heroin out of Louis' sight for at least a few weeks. After a while, Harry will get tired of having to go to the bathroom every time he wants a fix, so he'll stop, and then the cycle repeats. 

It's worth it, though. Louis can take the rocky parts, because when they're good, they're  _ amazing _ . 

Like right now, Harry's in the studio acting like a complete fool because it's making Louis laugh, despite how bad he feels for the producers just trying to do their jobs and get home to their families. He can't help it, though, not when Harry keeps making silly faces at him through the glass and singing in stupid voices. 

When the lead producer stands and tiredly asks if it's alright if they take a twenty minute break, Harry immediately nods, being his usual charming self. "Take as long as you want, I don't mind." Louis doesn't realize that he's not just being charming until the door shuts and Harry steps out of the recording booth to cross the room and lock it. 

"You're such a sleaze," Louis says, laughing brightly when Harry turns around and starts unbuttoning his shirt. His laughter increases to near-squeals when Harry stalks over to him and basically mounts him, his long limbs spilling everywhere and getting in the way. 

They work quickly, and within three minutes they're both already naked, hard and panting. "You're heavy, shit," Louis breathes out when Harry leans back to sit fully on Louis' thighs. 

"Sorry I'm not as tiny as you are," Harry mumbles against his lips, and Louis is so goddamn horny, but he still manages to muster an offended expression. 

"I'm not tiny, you're just giant, you -- "

"God, Lou, shut up," Harry says, groaning. He sucks a faint mark on Louis' neck before pulling away and saying, "Wanna fuck you." 

Louis gives him a look. "You haven't fucked me in ages."

"Exactly."

"We only have, like, ten minutes left."

Harry shakes his head, grinning. "I locked the door. We have as long as we want."

"Fuck, okay. Okay. Get on with it, then."

They end up taking far too long, and by the time they're finished almost a half hour later, Harry has to go out and find where his producers went. They stopped knocking about ten minutes ago, probably realizing what was going on and giving up. They're irritated, Louis can tell, and Harry must be able to tell too because he gets in the booth and sings his song without any funny business. It's not nearly as entertaining, but Louis' too tired and fucked-out to care much. 

He falls asleep in the chair when Harry's singing some harmonies, and wakes when John claps loudly and excitedly tells everyone they're done. He dozes in and out, partially listening to Harry chatting John up to make up for earlier -- "I trust you with my music, you're so great, some producers just don't get it, you know?"

He doesn't wake up fully until he hears Harry tell John that he has to use the bathroom, and Louis finds himself doing the math in his head before he even really realizes why, and then,  _ oh, right _ , Harry hasn't used in almost five hours, he's definitely itching for it by now. 

Louis glances down at his engagement ring like he always does when he's feeling sad or angry or disappointed. He hadn't actually taken it off for long; he would've, he so, so would've, but he didn't feel like putting either of them through the amount of press that would come with him not wearing it. And Harry knows that too, so Louis kind of feels like he ruined the magic of it. Made the ring seem like more of a threat than a promise.

Harry's still looking at him intently when Louis glances up, and because he's tired and just wants to go home, he gives Harry a gentle smile. 

-

Two months later, they're laying in bed and it's still light out. It's only seven o'clock in the evening, but both of them have felt lazy all day so they decided to go cozy up in bed and relax for the night. Harry's schedule has been hectic lately -- he has an album release in a week, and a tour that'll come a month after that to worry about and plan -- so when they can find time to relax together, they take it. 

Louis' munching on a handful of chips, fixated on the episode of  _ How to Get Away with Murder _ that's playing, when he hears Harry murmur an abrupt, "Oh, shit." He ignores it at first; Harry's using right now. He probably pushed it in too fast and it hurt, or he dropped the needle, or --

"Shit, shit -- oh,  _ fuck _ ." 

Louis does look over then, because Harry sounds panicked and scared. He's got the top of his joggers pulled down, exposing his pale upper thigh. He's been starting to inject there lately, Louis hasn't asked why, but maybe he should've paid a little more attention to it because now Harry is clutching at his inner thigh, face screwed up in pain, and the used syringe next to him is filled with blood. 

That's not supposed to happen. Louis doesn't know a lot about this type of thing, but he does know that that's not normal. 

"Hey," he says, urgently. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Harry lets out a half-sob, half-laugh. He's terrified, Louis can see it. "Think I hit, like, an artery or something, I -- fucking shit, it hurts."

"I'll call Nick." Louis rolls out of bed and grabs his phone, chips long forgotten on the bed. He finds Nick's number quickly and holds his phone up to his ear, waiting. His heart is racing and he feels hot all over. All he can think is  _ this is it, this is it, he took it too far, and now he's going to die _ . 

"Tomlinson," Nick answers, sounding happy. Wherever he is is loud, and Louis hopes to God he's in London. Harry hasn't mentioned him being anywhere else, but Louis also doesn't listen fully when Harry's talking about Nick. 

"Harry thinks he hit an artery or something," Louis rushes out. He's not looking at Harry. He can't. But he can hear by his labored breathing that he's alive, and that he's in pain. 

"Ah, fucking shit, hold on." There's some moving around and a loud, "I've got to go, loves, it was nice seeing you, take care," before there's a long period of silence. Finally, there's something like the noise of a car starting, and Nick is talking to him again. "You two at home?"

"Yeah. He's -- he's hurting really bad, I think."

"Where'd he inject it into?"

Louis chances a look before looking away before he even saw anything. He's so pathetic sometimes. "His thigh. Like, the inside of it, I think, I don't really know, but should -- "

"Christ, he knows better than that."

"Should I be calling an ambulance?" He's not going to be able to hold it together much longer. He can hear it in his voice, how it's thinning out and becoming higher. 

"No. No. Don't do that. I'll be right over, and then I'll take him in to see his doctor. It'll be fine."

Louis closes his eyes. The lump wedged down his throat is getting harder to talk around. "Nick, I'm -- I'm really scared."

"Don't be. He's not going anywhere, okay? If you think I'm letting my best client die on me, you don't know me very well."

"Don't joke," Louis pleads. "Please don't joke right now."

Nick sighs loudly. "I genuinely think he'll be fine if we get him in to the doctors in time. Don't worry about him. Just, unlock your front door, because I'm almost on your street and have to help you get his stupid arse into the car.”

"Okay," Louis agrees weakly. He doesn't understand how Nick is so calm about this at first, but then he remembers that Nick's known Harry for almost ten years and has gone through the ringer with him time and time again. He's used to this by now, used to Harry getting himself in trouble, and he's used to him being fine in the end. He just prays this is going to be another one of those times. 

It is. Harry's fine. Embarrassed and guilty and grumpy, but fine. 

Louis is pressed against the back of the chair, staring up at the TV in Harry's room as Nick and Harry's doctor, Dr. Elwin, talk excitedly about some up-and-coming artist that Nick's trying to lock down as a client. Harry is sitting up in a fancy hospital bed, tapping away at his phone quickly (he's replying to some fans on Twitter again, trying to get them freaking out before he drops his next album) and everything is so bloody normal that it makes Louis want to cry. 

Harry could've died. He injected an artery with heroin. That's not nothing, and he really wishes that people would stop treating it like it is. Harry's never going to get better with a manager who's so numb to him being reckless and a doctor who is paid thousands of dollars to basically ignore Harry's addiction. Doctors should be advising Harry to get help, to get clean, not instructing him on where it is safe to inject. 

After a few hours of them being here, Dr. Elwin turns to Harry with a grin on his face. "Alright, Harry. Ready to go home?"

Harry glances up at him, his fingers still moving on his phone screen. "Can I?"

"The longer you're here, the more likely someone will see you," Nick says, grabbing his keys out of his coat pocket. He shakes Dr. Elwin's hand and thanks him. "Seriously, mate. We appreciate it."

"It's no problem, really."

Louis presses his thumbs to his temples, a headache growing there. Dr. Elwin just got paid more than some people do in a year; of course he doesn't mind taking care of Harry. Maybe that's why he's not asking Harry to stop using. He can't risk losing that paycheck, likes the money more than he does Harry. 

Nick claps a hand over Dr. Elwin's back loudly. It makes Louis jump, and Harry shoots him a questioning glance. 

"If your daughters ever wanna come see Harry on tour again," Nick is saying, "just call me, I'll get them the best seats in the house, backstage passes, whatever you want. Oh, and -- "

"This is just a massive joke to all of you, isn't it?" Louis hears himself snapping. He thought it'd make him feel better, that it would relieve some tension in his chest, but all it does is make him feel worse. 

Nick's smile fades and he glares at Louis. He softens it quickly and looks over to Dr. Elwin, who now looks uneasy. "He's just a little tired. Ignore him. It's what I do, anyway."

Harry looks offended, and at least that makes Louis feel a little better. "Nick," he says sharply. "Don't do that. Let's just go, yeah?"

They do, and even though they sneak out the back, Nick is still being extra cautious and it feels like hours until they get to the car. By now Louis' headache has grown massively, and he wants to go home and sleep, but not in the bed that Harry hurt himself in, not on the sheets that blood could be stained into. 

Harry burrows himself into Louis' side, his face tucked against Louis' neck and legs draped over Louis'. He's trying to make Louis stop worrying, but it's not going to work, especially because now he's not even wearing a seatbelt. 

"Dr. Elwin said there was practically no chance I was going to actually die," Harry murmurs quietly, and Louis closes his eyes. 

"Dr. Elwin gets paid to tell you what you want to hear."

Harry doesn't do anything but huff a breath of hot air onto Louis' neck. It stirs the anger boiling in Louis' stomach -- Harry doesn't get to be annoyed that Louis is being honest, that Louis was and still is scared for Harry's life. He thinks that Harry's brushing this off as some stupid accident that'll never happen again, even though he won't be careful, because that's his mentality about this entire thing. That he's untouchable, and he's not.

Louis' nearly seeing red with how angry he is (and he's fully aware he's doing that thing he does when he turns his fear and anxiety into anger, but he doesn't want to stop it this time) when they get home, and he's so ready to snap, so ready for Harry to say something stupid. But when they get inside and the door clicks shut, Harry's face morphs from indifferent to anguished in half a second. 

Harry stops by the doorway after he takes one of his boots off and stares at Louis. His eyes are so round and wide, resembling a hurt puppy looking for comfort. "I'm sorry," he says, and his voice cracks. "I'm -- I hate this. I hate this so much."

Anger turns into confusion and pity. "Hate what?"

"Making you upset," he answers instantly. He rubs a hand over his face. "You're sad or angry all the time now, and I know it's my fault, I know that if I just stopped everything would be fine, but I can't, I -- " He looks up, most likely trying to will the tears glistening in his eyes to stay. "I thought for a really long time I could stop whenever I wanted. A really, really long time I thought that. And then I -- when I promised you I'd be sober before I proposed to you, I meant it. I had this -- this whole plan. I was going to go to rehab in London when I finished tour; I had already got it all sorted out with the doctors and with Nick, and I -- I don't know what happened." He gives Louis a heartbreaking look. "I was going to go, I wanted to go, and then I just couldn't. I was too fucking scared."

Louis swallows thickly. He didn't know any of that. And to think that Harry's been this disappointed in himself for so long makes Louis' chest tight. Harry's a good person. He shouldn't have to feel like a failure because of something that has control over him. 

Harry continues. "After I pussied out -- "

"H, don't do that, that's not fair to yourself."

"It's true," Harry disagrees. "After I didn't go, I called my mum and, like. She started asking all these questions. Am I taking care of myself, am I getting enough sleep, am I still using, and -- and I told her no. I told her I was sober. Just because I wanted to see what it would feel like. To see how the words felt, and how she would react. And -- " a tear finally falls, and Harry quickly brushes it away. He's trying to own up to his shit. "She told me she was proud of me, and she hasn't told me that in so long."

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "She tells you she's proud of you all the time, sweetheart. Every time you get an award, or you do some big modeling shoot, or break some record, she is the first to call you and tell you how proud she is."

"She's proud of what I do. Of what I've achieved. Not -- not of me. She's not proud of  _ me _ .”

"I don't think that's true."

Harry scoffs sadly. "She basically called me a disappointment on Mother's Day."

"H -- "

"I'm addicted to fucking heroin," Harry spits, suddenly angry. He's rejecting any sympathy Louis is trying to offer, which is unusual. Maybe this will finally be it. "It's not like I'm popping pills, or that I'm a pothead -- I'm addicted to heroin.  _ Heroin.  _ What's worse than that? Coke? Meth? Is it really much of an accomplishment to say well, at least I'm not a fucking cokehead."

He finally bends down to take his other shoe off, and he tosses it next to the other one. His hands are shaking. Louis wonders how eager he is to use next; has this scared him off, or is he itching for it more than usual?

"You deserve so much better than this, Louis. I should be jetting you off to Paris and fucking you in fancy hotels, not dragging you to the doctors at night because I fucked up."

Louis blinks slowly and says, "You've taken me to Paris, like, four times."

He expects Harry to get angry that Louis doesn't seem to be taking him seriously, or maybe even laugh, but he doesn't. And that's how Louis knows that things might actually be different this time around. "I was high every single one of those times. They don't count."

Louis just stares at him, because he's not sure what he's supposed to say. He's dreamed of Harry taking accountability like this for so long, and now that he actually is, Louis has no idea what to say to him. 

Harry lets out a wet, hollow laugh. He looks exhausted, suddenly. Like the last few years have finally caught up to him just now. "This would be the perfect time to quit, too. I've had my wake-up call, I feel ready for it, I'm being honest with you. But I can't right now. I don't have time to go to rehab right now."

"You can," Louis says fiercely. He knows exactly what to say now. "You can do it. I'll help you. I can talk to Nick for you, get everything sorted -- "

"I leave for tour in a month," Harry reminds sadly. He sounds so defeated already, and no, no, Louis has to find a way, he can't let this progress slip through his fingers.

"Your health is more important than a bloody tour."

Harry shakes his head. "If I cancel the tour, they'll find out why. My career will be ruined."

"Harry, that's not true, that's -- " He stops himself. That is true. He's the public's sweetheart; if it came out he was a heroin addict, things would change detrimentally for him. "You can quit on your own, then," he says weakly. It sounds stupid even to him. "I can help you. We can just throw all your shit away, and handle everything that comes after that together."

Harry looks even more sad. "Lou. I go on James Corden's show tomorrow. I can't do that if my body is tearing itself apart because I quit cold turkey."

"Then after tomorrow."

"After tomorrow, I'm in LA."

Shit. Louis forgot about that.

"Then -- "

"Louis," Harry whispers, and Louis recognizes that tone of voice. He's lost his chance to get through to Harry, and within a few hours, Harry's going to be using again. He'll probably be careful, but by next week, he'll be back to not really paying attention to where he's injecting and they'll be here again, eventually. 

Louis' so tired. 

"I think I'm gonna go lie down," he says quietly, and Louis nods. 

"Alright. I'm gonna watch some TV down here, I think."

Harry looks impossibly sad, but he doesn't say anything aside for a, "Goodnight, love you."

-

Their wedding is beautiful. 

Louis made the right choice in allowing Harry to pick most of the decorations, because it's stunning. It's an outdoor wedding (and you better bet your ass that they've got the toughest security Louis' ever seen, because Harry is hell bent about this being their day, and nobody else's) and there are lights everywhere, making it look like something out of  _ Tangled _ . It's so, so --  _ perfect,  _ and Louis hates how cliche it sounds, but it is. Christ, it's like something out of a fairy tale.

Except (and that's how it's always going to be, isn't it?) Louis can't help but want to cry when he stares up in Harry's eyes and his pupils are tiny, and during the reception, Harry starts getting antsy and says he's got to find Nick really quick, and he sees them slip into the bathroom together. 

Louis goes over to the bar and orders a drink for the both of them. While he's waiting, someone comes up to him and slings an arm over his shoulders. Louis turns to see Zayn, who's clearly stoned. 

"Where's Harry?" Zayn asks. 

Louis shrugs and glances forward. "Bathroom." And because he's upset, he adds, "With Nick," so Zayn knows what's going on too.

Zayn's smile falls for a second, and  _ yeah _ , Louis thinks. He's allowed to be sad that his husband -- God, that feels good to say -- can't make it through their reception without needing more heroin.

"He loves you," Zayn murmurs lowly, looking down. "I promise you, Louis. He'll come around. He'll fix it."

The bartender comes over with his drink and he takes it, smiling appreciatively, before taking a sip. Once he's done, he turns to Zayn and smiles, a little sad. "I don't believe that anymore. I really don't. But it's, like -- for better or for worse, you know?"

Zayn nods once, and he looks guilty while he does it. He's Harry's best mate; of course he's not going to feel good about admitting that Harry's too far gone at this point. 

Harry comes back a few minutes later, full of energy and bursting at the seams with excitement. "Come dance with me," he whispers, breath hot as it falls on Louis' ear. It makes him shiver. "Come on, let's go dance."

Louis leans back into him, grinning. "Gotta finish my drink first."

Harry reaches around him to grab Louis' drink and, without asking, he chugs the rest of it. He sets it back down on the counter before murmuring, "All finished." He drags Louis to the center of the dance floor, and Louis preens at how in love Harry looks. 

-

Harry overdoses for the second time six months later. 

It doesn't happen the same way as last time; Louis doesn't find him a certain way, and he doesn't call for an ambulance this time. Instead, they're at some party filled with movie stars and their model girlfriends, and someone else is the one to realize something's wrong. 

Nick and Louis are on someone's couch drinking expensive whiskey and chatting with some random blokes when someone Louis vaguely remembers seeing in that Harry Potter spin-off movie comes up to them. He looks to Nick when he asks, "Hey, you're Harry's mate, right?"

Louis glances over as Nick nods. "Sadly."

The guy nods and motions in some vague direction behind him. "He's outside in the garden, with some of the girls, and -- I don't know, mate, he just didn't seem all that alright."

Louis' heart drops. "What do you mean?" he asks, already standing up. Nick grabs his forearm to stop him, and Louis stays put. Nick knows more about all this stuff, both the heroin things and the celebrity things. 

"He's acting like he's super hammered, but I've been with him for the last hour and he hasn't drank anything." He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable, and eyes Louis. He must not realize he's Harry's husband. "He did take something else though, and I don't want to, like, overstep, but -- I've seen people high, and it doesn't look like that."

"Okay," Nick says, very seriously. He squeezes Louis' arm. "Okay. Thanks, Eddie, we'll just go look after him. I'm sure it's nothing."

They locate the garden fairly quickly, and as soon as they open the gate leading to it, they hear a female voice ask, "Should we be calling the ambulance? He's seriously not well."

Nick swears under his breath and they both walk faster. When they finally spot people, Louis hears a familiar voice say, "Hold on, nobody do anything yet, let me go find Louis." It's Cara, he realizes when she stands and almost bumps into them. She looks unnerved, and Louis' stomach churns painfully. 

"When did he use last?" Nick asks, voice low. 

She shrugs, looking unsure. "I don't -- fifteen minutes ago, maybe? I'm not too sure. But Nick," her eyes are wide when she looks to Louis, "his pulse is really, really weak."

Nick immediately goes over to Harry, who is not exactly hard to find considering he's being surrounded by at least six models who're all touching him in some way. He's laying spread out on a swing, and the women clear a path when they see them coming. 

Louis crouches down by Harry's head and tries not to be sick at how pale he looks. He sets a hand against Harry's cheek, and Harry blinks at him slowly. He's breathing too fast and yet too shallow at the same time. 

"Harry," he whispers quietly. He doesn't like how everyone's still watching them. "Love, can you hear me?"

Before he can wait for a response that is certainly not going to come, Nick shoves at Louis' shoulder to get his attention. 

"Cara's right, his pulse is barely there. We need to take him in."

Louis digs his thumb into Harry's cheekbone without meaning to. He's just so scared. "Okay. Okay. That's -- do we call an ambulance?"

There's nothing scarier than seeing how worried Nick looks. 

"Dr. Elwin is probably sleeping, and we can't wait on him." He thinks for a few seconds, and then turns and asks, "Anyone know how close the nearest hospital is?" They look spooked that he's talking directly to them, and they all look at one another until Nick gives up on them and turns back to Louis. 

"Let's get him in the car, I'll drive a few blocks over and call an ambulance."

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "What? Why?"

"If we call an ambulance here, too many people will see and it'll for sure get leaked." He pauses to shoot daggers at the girls, and spits, "I swear to God, if any of you say anything about any of this, I'll tell the paps that is was you lot that gave him some nasty, laced shit and -- "

"God, Nick, shut it," Cara says. "They won't say anything. Promise."

"Fine," Nick mumbles, and then he and Louis are hefting Harry up. Cara helps, and the three of them manage to get Harry into the backseat of Nick's car. By then, Harry's eyes are barely open, and Louis is so much closer to vomiting everywhere.

"Try to get him talking," Nick instructs as he pulls out of the driveway. He dials up the police and explains to them the situation, that Harry can't be seen by anyone and that this can't get out. 

"Only one nurse and one doctor will see to him. That way I'll know who to nail if one of them squeals -- alright, mate, I'm just saying, you have not only his life but his career in your hands right now."

Louis stares down at Harry and laughs quietly. It sounds hysterical, even to his ears. "Nick is so bloody dramatic, isn't he, babe?"

There's no sign that Harry hears him, and Louis lets out a dry sob. 

"Harry. Harry, love, say something. Please. I need you to -- " He grabs Harry's hand and intertwines their fingers. "Squeeze my fingers if you can hear me, okay?"

Harry's hand lays lifeless in Louis', and Louis has to let go to try and find Harry's pulse. He needs some sort of sign that Harry's okay, because Harry's not giving him  _ anything  _ right now. 

It's so, so faint, Louis is almost sure it's not actually there and he's just losing it. 

"Nick," he cries, feeling panicked, and Nick shushes him. He pulls over on a side street and parks before turning around to look at him. 

"They'll be here in no time, Lou, I promise. Just try to stay calm. And call Zayn."

That sends a fresh, stronger wave of panic through Louis. There's no reason for Zayn to be here. This isn't at all how Nick was acting like last time; he's actually acting like something's the matter right now. 

"Why does Zayn need to be there?" he asks, bracing himself for the answer. 

Nick's quiet before he says, "Because he'll want to be there if something goes wrong."

Louis closes his eyes. Something's already gone wrong. This is all so, so fucked up. He feels stupid for being so wound up; Nick told him, a long time ago, that this was bound to happen again, and he was right. Here they are, sitting in a car with bright lights approaching them because Harry fucked up again. 

"I don't get it," Louis murmurs to Nick. It's an hour later, Harry's stable and likely to be fine, Zayn's sleeping on the chair next to Harry's bed, his hand firm around Harry's wrist, and Louis' so, so tired. 

Nick hums quietly. "Get what?"

"How someone with such a high tolerance can overdose. I don't -- that doesn't make sense to me."

"He didn't have anything on him, as far as I know," Nick starts. He sounds tired too. "So he probably used someone else's shit, which was probably laced with something he's not used to."

"So in other words, he's a fucking idiot?"

Nick nods solemnly.

If he weren't so worn out, he'd stand and leave, maybe go get himself a coffee. And while he waited in line for that coffee, he'd stand there, trying to work out why all he can think is,  _ I'm done _ . And then he'd wonder why he's surprised that he's thinking that when it's exactly how he feels; overused and overwhelmed and over-everything. 

Nick must sense it, because he leans towards him and murmurs, "You can't do that to him. Not right now."

Louis scoffs quietly. "Why not?"

"He just overdosed, Louis, he -- "

" -- will brush it off as no big deal, and go back to using tomorrow." While shaking his head, he does stand then, the anger he suddenly feels giving him in the energy to. He grabs his coat off the back of his chair and debates putting it on, but he knows if he takes the time to do that, Nick will say something that'll make him want to stay. 

Not want. He wants to stay, he wants so badly to stay, he just -- he can't. He can't keep watching Harry go through this, over and over and over. 

"Louis, sit back down. Louis, I swear to -- "

Louis walks out of the room, his leather jacket clutched tightly in his hands. He hears Nick say something else just as leaves, but he knows it's not directed at him -- it's much too gentle. Harry must've woken up, and he's probably panicking because Louis' leaving, he's leaving him, his _ husband _ , who's in the _ hospital _ . God, he should turn around. He should go back. 

He stops, but instead of turning around, he turns to head in the direction where they came in from. He might be maybe-walking out on Harry, but he's not going to fuck with his career. He can't be seen here -- people will connect the dots. 

He ducks behind a corner to put his jacket on, pulls the hood down as far as it'll go without making him look suspicious. He walks quickly and with his head down, and he doesn't even think about the fact he doesn't have a car here until he gets to the parking lot. 

It's too late to go back now, so he sighs and sits down on the curb, his back facing the parking lot. He pulls out his phone and calls Cara -- it'll take the least explanation -- and tells her briskly to come pick him up. He doesn't answer any of her questions other than her asking if Harry's okay, to which he tells her yes. 

Zayn finds him about ten minutes later, and he looks livid. 

"The fuck are you doing?" he hisses. He'd sound more threatening if it weren't for the way he's hunched in on himself, hands tucked in his armpits, trying to fight against the cold. He's only wearing a t-shirt, and it's night time. 

Louis sighs and shrugs. He wants a cigarette so badly, but he doesn't have one on him. Zayn might, although Louis gets the feeling Zayn wouldn't give him one right now. "I don't know, mate. I'm just going home."

Zayn's expression softens, ever so slightly. "So is Harry, in, like, an hour."

"No, Zayn, I'm -- " he inhales sharply and presses his thumbs into the corner of his eyes. "I was gonna have Cara drive me to the house, and I was gonna grab some shit before I went to Doncaster."

"No, you fucking aren't."

"Zayn -- "

"You can't do that to him," Zayn tells him. "He's already being reckless, this'll just -- "

Louis shakes his head and stands. He's not going to sit here and have Zayn guilt him into staying. He can't. He doesn't know what he wants to do next, but he knows he can't be next to Harry anymore, because the second Harry uses next, Louis will seriously have a complete mental breakdown. It feels like it, anyway.

"I'm not obligated to do anything I don't want to do," Louis says evenly, and Zayn laughs bitterly. 

"You fucking married him, you idiot. Pretty sure somewhere in your vows, you said you wouldn't leave him, you said -- "

Louis groans loudly and cuts Zayn off. "The world does not revolve around Harry, you fucking know that, right?" he snaps, nearly shouting. They're off to the side of the hospital, so there's nobody close enough to hear. "You and Nick, and -- all of you, all of his friends -- you lot act like it's our duty to sit around and do whatever'll please him best, but we aren't his fucking yes men, Zayn. And if we are, we shouldn't be, because we're at the bloody hospital for the second time in the last year and a half. You're acting like I have to stick around for this bullshit, but I don't."

Zayn swallows visibly, all the anger draining from his face. He must realize how sick of this Louis is. "We're his family, Louis."

"Family doesn't let their loved ones burn themselves down into the ground."

"Louis -- "

"Hear me out," Louis interrupts, holding his hands up. Zayn pauses hesitantly, giving Louis the go ahead to talk. "I love Harry with everything in my heart, okay? More than anyone in the world does. But I can't continue to love someone who is knowingly and willingly driving themselves straight down a path that's leading to danger. I can't. Not anymore."

Zayn has tears in his eyes now, and Louis knows they aren't for him. Nobody seems to understand how hard it is to be with someone like Harry. An addict. It's terrifying and tiring. 

"He's been an addict since he was sixteen, Louis," Zayn says, shaking his head. "You can't expect him to magically get better, we have to -- we have to be there for him for the bad if we ever want him to get to the good."

Louis' tired, and so, so sick of this. He's so sick of all of it. He doesn't know how he used to think his life before Harry was hard. 

And Louis would have left then if it wasn't for Nick. He would've. 

Nick comes out a minute after Zayn's finished talking, and he looks a mix of annoyed and sad. Louis' never seen Nick sad over anything that wasn't to do with Harry. 

"He's causing quite a ruckus in there 'cause of you," Nick snaps, shaking his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, the cold getting to him, too. 

"How is him ending up in a hospital because he overdosed in any way my fault?"

Nick scowls at him. "Of course _ that's _ not your fault. But you walking out on him while he was laying in a bloody hospital bed sent him into a panic attack, and  _ that's  _ certainly your fault." He swears and runs a hand over his hair. His hair is still being held up by the excessive amount of gel he always puts in it. "He hasn't had one of those in  _ years _ , Louis."

Nick's right; Harry hasn't had a panic attack since he was seventeen. He's twenty-six now. 

"For the love of God," Nick says. "Go back in there and calm him down. Calm him down, and then help me get him home, and then," he looks impossibly sad, "and then after he's had a good night's rest, you can do whatever you need to do."

And that seems fair. Even as overwhelmed as he is, he can recognize that maybe up and leaving Harry like this is wrong. Besides, he's not sure he could do it like this, anyway. He's pretty sure if he would leave right now, he'd feel terrible and guilty and come right back. They'll both need some type of closure if he wants this to actually stick, although he's not sure if he does or not.

Harry's his husband. He loves him. But he can't handle the heroin use anymore, and it's unfortunate to say that that's a prevalent feature in Harry's life. Harry will never pick Louis over heroin, so Louis has to pick himself over Harry. 

"Fine," Louis agrees. He's not heartless, never has been, and he doesn't know what came over him. 

Nick and Zayn both melt with relief, and Louis follows them back inside. 

-

Harry clings to him the entire way home. 

Cara's driving, Nick's in the passenger seat, and Zayn is on the other side of Harry, trying not to intrude on Harry and Louis' bubble. He's holding his breath, hoping to God that Louis changes his mind about things, and it scares Louis that he's not sure he has.

He loves Harry to death, but that doesn't mean he's willing to watch Harry die at the hands of an addiction. He can't do that anymore. 

"I'm sorry," Harry whimpers out again. He keeps saying that, and it pains Louis to have to hear it so close to his ear. Harry's face is tucked against the junction of Louis' neck and shoulder. His other hand is pressed fervently on the other side of Louis' neck, and Harry's got his knees tucked up against his thigh. 

Not once does Louis tell him it's okay, and it makes Harry frantic by the time they get home.

"You can't leave me," Harry says, near tears. He's fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, his fingers working too fast to get much of anything accomplished. Louis watches him sadly from the other side of the kitchen table. He doesn't want to have this conversation right now; Nick's right, Harry needs rest. And Zayn is staying the night in their guest bedroom, too rattled to leave Harry right now. So yeah, Louis doesn't want to do this with someone just down the hall. 

"Harry. . . "

"No, Lou, I can't -- " Harry hangs his head, his fingers still fumbling with the front of his shirt. "I need you so much. I know that sounds selfish, and I'm so sorry for not -- not being there for you, I guess, but I'll start, I will. You just need to tell me what to do, and I'll do it." He huffs, finally giving up on undoing the buttons; they must be bothering him, his shirt must feel too tight and constricting. He lifts his head to meet Louis' eyes, and he looks completely distraught. It's evident by his face alone that he went through a lot tonight. "I don't know how I'd cope with losing you."

And Louis can't help it when he says, "Heroin, probably." 

Harry flinches, and then chokes on a dry sob. His face twists up like he's in actual pain, and his hands go up to wipe at his face. "I'll quit. I'm serious."

"You won't -- "

"I  _ will _ ," Harry says, more fierce than Louis' ever heard him before. He looks determined as all hell. "If you think I'm stupid enough to let it ruin us, you're wrong. I don't think you understand how much you mean to me."

Louis looks down and bits his lip before shrugging sadly. He glances at Harry and gives him a small smile. "Prove it, then. I'm not gonna believe you until you show me you can actually do it."

Harry nods frantically, his eyes wide. It's clear he didn't think he'd get a second chance. Louis didn't think he'd get one, either. 

"I'll give you a month," Louis says quietly, knowing it's not exactly fair considering the extent of Harry's addiction. "If you manage to be sober for at least half of it, I'll stay."

Harry squints, and then says, "That gives me fifteen days to slip up."

"Yeah, I know. And I promise you, you're going to use them up fast."

"I won't," Harry quickly denies. "I can do this, Louis, I  _ can _ ."

"Prove it," Louis says again, before he comes over to undo Harry's shirt’s buttons for him. Harry watches him, chest heaving, and once Louis' done, Harry grabs his face and kisses him, hard. 

-

Harry only manages to stay clean for four days of the month, and it's made clear to them all that they still didn't know how severe Harry's addiction is. It took barely a full day of him being sober for him to go into complete withdrawal, and he stuck it out for about half a day before he begged Nick to give him more. He would've done it himself, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't. 

On November third, the official end of the month Harry had, Harry breaks down into a fit of tears backstage of an interview. He calls Louis, choking on sobs. First he begs Louis not to leave him, to give him another month, and then he's shouting at Louis that it's not fair, that Louis' being selfish and cruel. 

"I'm in the middle of a promo season, working my fucking ass off, how the fuck do you think I can do that clean?"

Louis stays silent, sitting on the bed where he has half a suitcase packed, and listens to Nick scold him about being quiet. 

"You _ married _ me!" Harry continues. "You literally _ vowed  _ to stay with me. How can you just leave me like this?"

Nick eventually gets him off the phone, and Harry must've gotten through the interview fine because he didn't get another call after that one. He spends the next two hours packing everything he needs, ignoring the burn of tears in his throat and trying not to think too hard about what he's doing. 

He makes sure he has enough time to leave before Harry gets back, because hearing Harry beg in person would be too much to handle for him. 

-

-

Living without Harry is a lot easier than he ever thought it'd be. 

It sounds evil, but it's true. Louis goes back home to Doncaster, a place he never thought he'd call quiet until he lived in Los Angeles, and rents the closest flat to his mum's house. He gets an orange cat and names him Bongo, and a few plants he immediately kills on accident. He even considers getting a new number, Harry's and Nick's constant calls getting to be too much, but after about two months, they mostly stop. He only gets a voicemail every now and then, and Harry's always completely drunk in them. 

"I miss you. So much," Harry said in the latest voice mail, about a month back. "I'm trying to write this stupid record, and all I can manage to write is depressing shit that's got Zayn worried I'm going to off myself or something. Not that I haven’t thought about it, but. . . I'm sorry what the press is doing to you. I don't even know how the cheating rumors started; I promise it wasn't my people. I've made sure it wasn't. . . I called your mum last week. She told me you're doing well." He laughed. "I’m probably gonna write about that soon."

He blabbered on for a little while longer before saying, "If you ever want to give me another chance, Louis, please know I'm here waiting for it. . . I still wear my ring. I know you do too."

Louis' pretty sure his heart is still broken from that voicemail. He had immediately called Zayn in hysterics, asking if Harry was mentally stable, if he really was serious when he said he had thought about suicide, and Zayn had sighed and told him that the shrink Nick has been forcing him to see is 'ninety-nine percent sure Harry's not serious'. 

"And I'm assuming he's not sober?" Louis asked quietly. 

Zayn sighed. "Nope. He's using about every two hours, now. And he's really started to itch, lately. . . like, way worse than he used to before. And he keeps getting these cold sweats." He sighed again. "Even fucking Nick is worried about him now."

About an hour after that phone call, Harry texted him saying that he’s not going to hurt himself and that he had no intention of making Louis scared that he might.  _ Was just thinking out loud, sorry. Love you x. _

Besides those moments, though, Louis can genuinely say that it's been nice to get away from all the cameras and posed Instagram shots and swarms of fans. He still gets the occasional pap or two hanging around his flat, even though it's been eleven months since he and Harry ended, but it's fine. Louis doesn't mind giving them the finger and getting to his car. 

There'd only been one time that Louis had really, truly felt regret for wrecking his marriage. It'd been about a month after Louis walked out. Someone from Harry's legal had sent him a NDA agreement, basically forcing him to promise he'll never slander Harry's name or reveal any personal detail, and separation papers. 

When he saw the separation papers, he cried for literal  _ hours _ . He didn't even flip through the papers -- couldn't -- until the next morning, and that's when he saw that Harry hadn't signed them yet. It dawned on him, then, that it was quite possible Harry's legal team sent it to him first as a way to convince Harry to sign them. _ See, he wants to be separated from you, so you might as well just sign it.  _

He called Harry. It would've been too easy if Harry just picked up then, but he didn't. Probably doing a show or something; Louis stopped keeping track of what Harry was doing quickly after. But he did call him back an hour later, and he sounded breathless. 

"Lou?" he said. "I -- " he laughed, a little scared. "I mean, did you mean to call me?"

Louis had swallowed thickly and nodded to himself. Bongo was sitting next to the papers on the kitchen table, staring at him curiously. "Yeah. Yeah, um. . . look -- "

"I miss you," Harry interrupted. "I regret everything. I feel like I ruined everything, and I'm so -- "

"That's not why I called," Louis whispered, feeling terrible. But it felt even more cruel allowing Harry to hold on to hope that Louis was calling to fix things. "Look, I just -- I got some mail, okay, and I just wanted to run it by you before I signed anything."

Harry went quiet, and then whispered, "I know the NDA is a little much, but they're convinced I need it. Even Nick was like, hey, Louis' not like that, but my legal team wouldn't budge. It just. . . all it says is that if you talk poorly about me to the press, you can be fined. Which again, is a little much, but they're just trying to protect me. I'm sorry."

Louis nodded. He already signed that one; he didn't care much about the stupid NDA. "Yeah, no. I get that one. That's fine. But, um. . . I just noticed, like. I noticed you didn't sign the separation papers, and I -- "

And Harry had been  _ furious _ . He didn't let Louis say another word before he started hollering at someone -- Nick, he figured out quickly -- for disrespecting him and Louis like that. For going behind his back. 

"This is my  _ marriage _ , this has _ nothing _ to do with my career," he had shouted, and Nick was repeatedly telling him that he knew nothing about it, either. Louis quietly listened to the whole thing, petting Bongo to calm himself. 

After ten minutes of listening to Harry's threats and curses, Harry had finally turned his attention back to Louis. "Don't sign them," he begged, voice hoarse. "Please, please don't sign them."

Louis nodded. That's what he thought. "I won't. If that's what you want, I mean."

"If you sign them, I won't, so. There'd be no point, really."

Louis closed his eyes and set his head on the counter. "Okay."

"Okay."

Louis had hung up after whispering a goodbye, and then threw the separation papers in the trash. He mailed back the NDA the following day, and that was that, but Louis still braces himself every time he opens his mail, steeling himself for the day that a new batch of separation papers come, these ones with Harry's name signed on all the right lines.

-

They've been split for barely thirteen months when Louis gets the phone call he's been dreading. It's been his biggest fear, hearing that Harry's health is at risk again and not being right there to see for himself if he's alright or not. And when he gets out of a movie him and Lottie went to see and sees that he has two missed calls and a voicemail for Nick, he knows that this is his fear coming to life. 

He tries not to make it obvious that something's wrong until they get to the car, but as soon as they sit down, he immediately whips his phone out and listens to Nick's voicemail. It was sent over an hour ago. 

"Hey, mate. Um. . . hope you're doing well, and all that. I, uh. I tried calling you a few minutes ago, and I didn't get an answer, and I tried calling again, and, like -- if this is you trying to ignore us, like, now's not the time. . . " The line goes quiet for a few seconds before he sighs. "Look, Harry's in the hospital. He's alright, it was just another overdose. He, uh. He just overdid it, I guess. He's very insistent that it was an accident, and I believe it was, so don't worry about that. But, um. Me and Zayn are gonna sit him down and try to get him to go into rehab. For real, this time. I think we all know he can't keep doing this."

Louis' chest is tight and he presses his eyes shut as he listens to Nick say, "Come to the hospital, if you want. If you could. We're in London, at the hospital we were at last time. Dr. Elwin's here, he's been the one taking care of him today. But yeah, me and Zayn could really use your support in this. He's. . . it's worse than it was when you were around. Getting him into rehab is going to be difficult, so. . . Yeah. Anyway. Come if you can. If not, well. . . that's okay too. Alright. Bye."

There's not a single part of Louis that considers not going, and Lottie stays quiet about how quick he still is to drop everything for Harry. 

-

When he gets to the hospital, hours later, he's tired and hungry and sore, but he stops thinking about any of that as soon as Harry's people lead him down a hall to a hospital room. 

As soon as he opens the door and steps in, he sees Harry sitting in the hospital bed, looking scared. He's skinnier than Louis left him. That's the first thing Louis notices. The second thing he notices is how gentle Zayn and Nick look from where they're seated next to him. 

Zayn and Nick's faces melt with relief when they see Louis standing there, while Harry's face twists with -- something, Louis isn't sure. Harry reaches out for him with one arm, and Louis immediately comes closer and wraps his arms around Harry's middle. He squeezes him tightly, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder, and Harry's fingernails gnaw at Louis' arm.

"How are you feeling?" Louis asks, and Harry tucks his face into Louis' neck. For a moment, Louis thinks that's the only response he's going to get. 

"They want to send me away," he says quietly. It burns a hole of sadness into Louis' heart, but he tries to ignore that because no, they don't. They don't want to send him away, they want to put him up in a posh rehab center; there's a difference. 

Louis pulls back and sits on Harry's bed. He grabs both of Harry's hands and gives him a knowing look. "Nobody is sending you away. Rehab is voluntary, you know that."

Harry looks crushed. "I don't -- I have so much to do, these upcoming months. . ."

"We can cancel," Nick says, and his voice sounds rough. Maybe he's just been smoking, or maybe crying, or maybe both. "There's nothing that'll kill if you cancel."

"They'll find out," Harry says, and now he sounds urgent, like he's trying frantically to remind them all why nobody has pushed him this hard to do it yet. "If they find out, I'll -- "

"Better them knowing than you being dead," Louis says calmly, because he knows Harry's feeling cornered and vulnerable right now, and he doesn't want to make it any worse. 

Harry's eyes are wide, and his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks proper scared. "I can cut back. I can -- this doesn't have to happen again, I can -- "

"You won't," Zayn says, and Louis' thankful. If he had to be the one to say that, he wouldn't have been able to do it nicely. "You always say that, mate, and you can't."

"But this time it actually fucking matters," Harry argues, glaring at them all. He pulls his hands from Louis and crosses his arms. "Just giving me a fucking chance, alright?"

"It mattered when losing Louis was on the line, and if you couldn't do it then, you can't do it now. Not even for your career." Nick doesn't look guilty for saying that, and Louis has a gut feeling that Harry's addiction has gotten a lot worse since he's been gone. "Harry, mate. It's thirty days. You can do it."

Harry scoffs and clenches his jaw, looking away. The anger is a front; the rush of worry is still in his eyes and the way he's lightly stroking his own arm reminds Louis of a child. "I know I fucking could. Doesn't mean I'm doing it."

Nick sighs. "Why not? What else have you got to lose? You've already lost your marriage, and you haven't talked to your mum in a long time, and," he sighs, "let's face it, Haz, the public will figure it out soon enough. I had to quiet that story TMZ wanted to break about you being an alcoholic just last month, remember? They were wrong, but they were close to the truth. And when the truth inevitably comes out, you're screwed."

More gently, Zayn says, "Your fans and the public would much rather find out by you trying to better yourself voluntarily than finding out from some news source."

Harry doesn't say a word. 

Nick sighs again and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands through his hair and then sets his chin on his hand. "You're already itching for it," Nick says, nicer than before. "Bet you're wondering when we'll leave you alone long enough for you to have a chance to get to your bag. I already threw your shit out, but you don't know that."

Harry looks down, and the way he's rubbing at his arm grows more intense. He's not doing it to soothe himself, Louis realizes, he's got the urge to itch. He's probably doing it over fresh track marks, trying to recreate the feeling of a needle pinching his skin. 

"I know you're scared, Harry," Nick says. "I know you are. And that's okay, you hear me? It's okay to feel scared. And none of us expect you to go in there and come out magically healed, okay? We know that you'll probably relapse a time or two, and I'm -- I'm not saying that's okay, but I'm saying that we won't be disappointed in you. If you try, no matter what, we won't be disappointed in you."

Harry's fingernails are dragging over his skin now, but he's not doing it hard enough for Louis to stop him. "When would I have to go? I mean, if I agreed to it. Which I'm not, just. . . when?"

"I think tonight might be best," Nick says, and immediately, Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. "No, H. Listen to me. You've already been off of it for a few hours, way longer than you have been in a while, and if -- I can't just let you go back to it full force and expect you to go. We have to do this now."

That sounds scarily quick for Louis, so he can only imagine how Harry feels. Louis reaches over to grab his hand, and Harry jerks like he wants to pull away. He doesn't. He does, however, bring his other hand over to run his fingers over Louis' wedding ring. 

Louis wants to be embarrassed about still wearing it, but Harry's still got his too, so he forces himself not to be.

"We should probably put a statement out," Nick says softly. "Before you go in. To get our narrative out first and make it sound like a smaller deal than it is."

"Stop going so fucking fast," Harry snaps, looking up to glare at him. "If you want me to go, don't -- don't rush me into it, okay? This isn't some fucking media strategy."

"You're right," Louis says, and Harry gives him a wounded look. "This isn't about your career anymore, it's about you. About your health. About how much longer we get to have you in our lives."

Harry twists to look away, and Louis can tell by how he's moving that he's definitely craving it like mad by now. Maybe that's why Nick's trying to rush this. "You already kicked me out of yours," he says, and there's no anger in it even though Louis' certain there's supposed to be.

Louis smiles at him sadly. "You know I didn't."

Harry doesn't say anything for a moment, and then he suddenly looks to Louis. He looks fierce. "I'll go if you promise to give me a second chance once I get out."

All eyes are on Louis, and immediately, Louis flushes. That's. . . his hold on Harry's hand weakens, and Harry just squeezes his hand that much harder. "That's unfair," he says quietly, looking down. 

Nick clears his throat. "And putting your recovery up to someone else isn't the way you stay sober."

"Shut the fuck up, Nick," Harry snaps, but he's still looking at Louis. "Come on. Please. I'll be clean, and you -- the only reason you broke up with me is because of my addiction, so once it's gone, why would you want to keep being separated?"

"Your addiction will never just go away," Nick mumbles, knowing full way it's going to get him scolded. 

It does. "Nick, shut the fuck _ up _ ," Harry spits. 

Louis gives him a weak smile. "He's right, though."

"I don't care. I want -- I  _ need _ you back in my life, Lou," Harry whispers, shaking his head. "I don't see a reason to be sober if you aren't gonna be there with me."

"Don't put all that pressure on him, Harry," Zayn tells him. "Don't, seriously. I know you're trying to fix your marriage, but this isn't the way to do it. Don't do that to him."

Louis doesn't say anything, thankful. 

Harry lets out a broken sigh and looks off to the side again. "Fine," he says, but he sounds heartbroken. "Just, can you please start talking to me again when I get out? We don't have to get back together, I just. . . " he licks his lips and looks down. "I just really miss you." His voice cracks, and he lets out a self-deprecating, short laugh because of it.

Louis tries not to let that hurt him and takes a deep breath. He needs to think with a clear head. He can't let Harry's only motive for getting sober to be Louis; Nick's right, that's not how he'll stay sober. But is promising to talk to him again too terrible? Is that doing the same thing? He doesn't know. 

"Tell you what," Louis says, and his voice cracks, too. He squeezes Harry's hand and gives him a small smile. "I'll be the one to pick you up, alright? When your thirty days are up, I'll be out in the parking lot waiting for you."

Harry looks hopeful as he looks back at Louis. "And then we'll go out for ice cream together?"

That makes Louis laugh. "I guess," he agrees, giving him an odd look. 

Harry doesn't laugh. "You promise?"

"Yes," Louis says. "I promise. So long as you promise that you get better for yourself and not for me."

"Promise," Harry says immediately, and Louis knows he didn't even process what Louis said before he agreed to it. It makes him deflate, a bit, but he supposes that Harry having something to look forward to isn't a terrible thing. 

-

Things move quickly from there. 

Zayn's in charge of calling the rehab center Harry had been planning on going to the last time and getting that set up, Nick is writing up Harry's statement that will be posted on his Instagram and Twitter, and Louis is the one who has to sit in Harry's bed with him and hold him as he shakes with fear and withdrawal. 

It's okay; Louis would be offended if either of them thought he'd want to be anywhere else. 

"This is crazy," Harry keeps whispering against Louis' skin. He's curled into Louis' side with his head resting on Louis' chest. "This is crazy."

"You'll be alright, sweetheart. You'll be completely okay."

Harry's hand jerks from where it's resting on Louis' ribcage. Louis presses a kiss to the top of his head, awfully close to crying. 

"Write me some songs in there, alright? That'll keep you busy." As if Harry won't already be busy enough with trying to break an addiction and healing. 

"Okay," Harry says quickly. "Okay. I will."

Nick has been typing for ages, and Louis wishes he would hurry it up already. Harry's in pain, and Louis doesn't know just how bad withdrawal can get. He already feels like he's losing Harry, like Harry's barely reaching the surface anymore. 

Harry wraps his leg tighter around Louis'. "This is crazy," he says again, and Louis pets at his hair. 

Finally, Nick's done with the statement, and as he reads it to them, Harry just shakes his head against Louis' chest with his eyes closed. Nick pauses halfway, asks him if he wants him to change anything, and Harry just keeps shaking his head. 

"I'll post it once he's officially in," Nick says, and he and Zayn stand at the same time like everything's settled, and it makes Harry panic. 

"I'm not going," he rushes out, still shaking his head against Louis' chest. "I'm not going. I'm not."

Nick sighs. "Harry -- "

"You can't fucking force me," Harry snaps, almost shouting. "You can't. They won't let you."

Nick looks like he's about to snap something back, but Louis quickly intervenes before he can do that. He wraps his arms around Harry tighter and squeezes him tight. "Harry, love. We talked about this."

"Okay, but I changed my mind."

"Babe," Louis mumbles, closing his eyes. "Think about our ice cream date, yeah? Just think about that."

It's not that easy. Of course it's not. But it does get Harry to agree to it again, long enough for them to get him from the hospital to the car. And then as soon as they're buckling him in, he's protesting again, saying he won't do it, but Nick tells them to just let him tire himself out. It's a half hour drive, apparently. 

Louis wishes it was shorter, for Harry's sake. He's shaking against Louis, and he's starting to sweat a bit, and Louis knows this is just the start. He knows that from having common sense, but also from the articles on heroin withdrawal he's reading out of Harry's sight. 

They all ignore his ramblings -- _ I'll do it next week, next month, tomorrow; just not tonight. Can I have one more dose before I go in? Just one more? Please? This is fucking cruel, you guys are fucking dicks _ \-- for the entire car ride, and then they're here, apparently, and Harry grows quiet as they park. 

Zayn unbuckles and slots himself behind Harry, draping himself over his back and setting his chin on Harry's shoulder. Between Louis and Zayn, Harry's smooshed, but he doesn't seem to mind it. 

"It's just thirty days," Zayn whispers to him. "Do whatever they want you to do to get better, and then come back home. I'll move in with you, like we've been talking about. It'll be fun."

Harry closes his eyes. "Yeah. Would be."

" _ Will _ be," Zayn corrects. "Come on. We have to go now, alright?

Nick goes in first, just to make sure that Harry can get to his room without anyone seeing him. They'd get off on the wrong foot if Harry's presence here is leaked before Nick puts up the statement, and he isn't going to do that until Harry signs all official paperwork necessary. While they wait for him to get back, Harry cries and Zayn and Louis wordlessly comfort him. Try to, anyway. 

Louis' surprised that Harry doesn't put up another fight when they enter the building. (It's definitely an expensive center, and Louis wonders how much Harry's paying to stay here.) Maybe he's scared of drawing attention to himself and getting outed, Louis doesn't know, but he's grateful for it. 

Harry doesn't say a word until he absolutely has to. That time comes around when the lady at the front desk looks at him again and asks his name, even though she already knows it. She must be wondering where his head is at; Harry's completely hunched in on himself and trying to make himself as small as possible against Louis' side. He's clutching onto Louis' hand tightly, and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Harry glances up at her, and shit, he looks terrified. "Harry," he answers, his voice hoarse. Louis has to look away. 

"Okay, Harry," she says, and her tone is soft. Gentle. "You're entering the thirty day program, correct?"

Harry just nods once. 

"Here's the forms I need you to sign, then." She hands him a clipboard with some papers attached to it and a pen, and he accepts it shakily. He looks down at it, but he doesn't move to fill anything out, so Louis guides him over to some chairs so they can fill it out together. 

Louis ends up taking over with the writing when they quickly realize that Harry can't manage it himself. His shaking hands are pretty bad, although not bad enough to be unable to write. Harry tells him he can't even read the words right now, that they all just look blurry and fleeting. So Louis quietly reads him the questions and fills out the answers for him. 

"Who do you want your emergency contact to be?" Louis asks, the pen hovering over the paper.

Harry frowns at him. "You. Obviously."

"I think Zayn might be best," Louis tells him, and he looks beyond hurt. Louis is quick to try and explain himself. "I'm living in Doncaster right now, and that's a far drive from here. It's emergency, yeah? And Nick isn't always in London, but Zayn is. That's all I was saying."

"I don't care," Harry mumbles. "If something's wrong, or, like, somebody needs to make decisions for me because I can't make them myself, I want you to do that. You know me best."

Louis has to hug him then, because Harry looks seconds away from throwing up or sobbing hysterically or passing out or all of the above. Harry seems to appreciate it, and before Louis pulls away, he presses a kiss to Harry's forehead. 

"I'll put Zayn as your secondary one, then."

Harry nods. 

The goodbye portion of this comes quicker than Louis expected. They turn in the forms, they ask Harry a few more questions, Nick promises to bring a bag of clothes and other things for Harry tomorrow, and then it's time. 

Harry goes to Nick first, and even though it's a short hug, Harry's still crying by the end of it. "Fucking hate you," Harry mumbles as he pulls away, and he lets out a nervous laugh to show that he doesn't actually mean it. He must realize that this is what he needs. He's not going to like it by any means, but this is what has to happen. 

Zayn looks heartbroken when he hugs Harry, and he doesn't let him pull away for at least a minute. His fingers are digging into Harry's back, and it might hurt, but Harry doesn't seem to care. 

"You got this, Hazza," Zayn chokes out. "It's just thirty days, alright? And you better not think about anyone else when you're in there. Just think about you. This is about you."

Harry nods against his shoulder. "Okay."

And then it's Louis' turn, and Louis doesn't even try to pretend like this isn't the hardest thing he's ever had to do. This is the thing he's been pushing Harry to do for years, and now he's here, and if something goes wrong. . . Louis will feel at fault. He'll feel terrible. He wants Harry to succeed so, so badly, and he hates himself for questioning if that's possible at this point. 

The force of Harry's hug steals the breath out of Louis' lungs, but it's okay. It's okay. 

"Would it be okay if I texted you sometimes?" Harry asks, and it's meant for Louis, but the lady at the desk answers instead. 

"Cell phone use is restricted here. It'll be confiscated, and you'll only get to use it occasionally."

Harry's fingers dig into Louis' side. "Why?" He sounds so, so hurt.

She looks apologetic. "It comes down to a privacy issue, really."

And even though that seems a bit rough, Louis' glad that's a rule. He doesn't want anyone even having a possibility of snapping a picture of Harry in here. 

They don't kiss, and Louis regrets that so painfully as he watches Harry disappear around a corner, arms crossed over his stomach, shoulders hunched forward, head down. He should've kissed him. He should've. 

-

The forty-five days Harry's in rehab is probably the worst forty-five days of Louis' life. 

Not because he feels guilty about it, for whatever reason, or because he gets infrequent calls from a hopeless, lost Harry, or because Louis' worried sick about him. Those all suck, yes, but Louis can handle it because Harry's getting better. 

What he can't handle, though, is the press. The fucking media. 

They're bloodthirsty and ruthless, and they write Louis up to be some heartless monster who abandoned Harry during a time of hurt, or, even worse, that him breaking off their marriage is what drove Harry to heroin in the first place. In the statement Nick put up on Harry's social media, he never specifically said what Harry was addicted to, but it leaked, because of course it did. Of course it did. 

They swarm his apartment complex, and all his neighbors hate him. They follow him to work, to the shops, to his mum's house. Once, in the beginning before Louis knew better, he picked his sisters up from school and they followed him there, too, and he nearly lost it. 

He can't go on social media. At all. It feels like everybody hates him. All of Harry's fans are calling him names and twisting the story, and Louis is reduced to a puddle of tears on more nights then he'd like to admit. 

The calls from Harry are worse, though. He was lying when he said they weren't. They hurt so, so profoundly, and they never get easier. 

"It's so hard, Louis," Harry cried to him, the first time he called. He was eight days in. "I feel so sick all of the time, and -- and I'm so bored, and I can't sleep, and -- God, Louis, the cravings are so bad. They're  _ so _ bad. And it hurts so much, and even when I'm doing poorly, they make me go to the stupid fucking group sessions and counseling and -- God, I just want to come home. I want to come  _ home _ ."

The second call Louis got was on day ten, and it's because Harry was about to check himself out early. 

"They made me talk to my counselor before I left," Harry told him quietly. He sounded distant, like he didn't even want to be talking to Louis. "He talked me out of it. Said you wouldn't want me to come home early, and that'd I just relapse as soon as I got back. But I don't care if I do."

Louis, who was clutching onto a pillow painfully tight, shook his head. "Harry, don't say that."

"I don't care anymore, Louis. I don't care." He let out a long sigh. "I shouldn't have let him talk me out of it. I'm going to come home. I'm doing it tomorrow, and I don't give a fuck what they try to tell me. They can't keep me here."

"I won't be there to pick you up, then," Louis said, as coldly as he could when he had tears running down his face. "I can't stop you from checking out early either, but don't think you have a place in my life again if you do."

Harry scoffed and hung up on him, but he never did check out early, so Louis' pretty sure he said the right thing. 

On day twenty-eight, Harry called him to tell him that he was staying longer, and that the reason he hadn't been calling much was because his therapist thought talking to Louis -- or to anyone outside -- was damaging to him. Every time he got off the phone, apparently, he was a wreck. 

"How much longer?" Louis asked, frowning. He was happy Harry was agreeing to stay longer, though. That meant he wanted to get better and took the initiative when he realized he wasn't there yet. 

"Another fifteen days. Maybe longer, if I still feel like this."

Louis hesitated. "Feel like what?"

Harry was quiet for about a minute, and then said, "Like the first thing I'm going to do when I get out of here is call Nick's mate Roy to get a fix. Got it all planned out. But obviously I don't want to do that."

"Good," Louis breathed out. "Good, love."

Those three times were the only times Harry got to call him. He called Zayn once, on day ten, and he didn't call Nick at all. Louis would have gone mad if that was him, but Nick promised he was okay.  _ If he hates me for not giving him a choice,  _ Nick joked,  _ it's alright. I already made my money off of him. And who knows if he's even going to be making any more once he gets out.  _

That last bit was still a joke, although Louis fears it's in part truth. Certain brands have dropped Harry as a client, purely because he's come out as an addict. Most brands haven't -- Gucci hasn't, which is all Harry's going to care about, Louis' pretty sure -- while others are still on the fence about it. And it's not like Harry's main source of income comes from companies like that, anyway: he's a musician. A musician who's entire personality just warped in the eyes of the public; will people still want to listen to Harry's music when they know his last few albums that he has claimed to pour his heart into have not been entirely truthful? Will they buy the first record he puts out once he's out of rehab, and then get bored when it's not about his struggles with addiction? Will Harry ever get to be Harry again, or will every single article written about him now have the tag heroin addict next to his name?

Harry Styles, who went to rehab last year. Harry Styles, ex-heroin addict. Harry Styles: is he using again? 

That will be Harry's life from now on, and Louis fears it will end his career. Less things have done a shit ton of damage to people way more famous than Harry. 

And Harry's charm is what got him places. Will people still find a heroin addict charming?

There's a lot of questions that don't have any answers right now, and that scares Louis, because that means he can't bring a lot of useful comfort to Harry if he asks when Louis sees him. 

He has to go inside to get Harry, Harry can't come to him. So he parks his car in the front of the building and goes inside, where he is then walked to Harry's room. 

"He's still finishing up with his counselor, but you can go ahead inside," the man tells him, and Louis nods and pushes open the door even though he's unsure he should be disrupting their time together. 

Harry's sitting on a sofa, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other is pulled up to his chest. He has his head leaning against the back of the couch, and even though he looks completely relaxed, he seems to be listening to whatever his doctor is telling him. Until he notices it's Louis who walked in, and then immediately he's up on his feet and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

"How are you?" Louis asks, clenching his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the subtle look of happiness on the counselor's face and can just focus on how nice it feels to have Harry right here again. 

"Okay," Harry says. "Like, I'm fine. How are you, are you good?"

"Yeah, fine."

Harry looks so much healthier, it's almost mad. He must've looked like shit before and Louis just hadn't processed it, because he looks _ healthy  _ now. His skin looks clean and shiny and dewy, and he doesn't look as pale as he had before, and there are no bags from lost sleep under his eyes. He's gained weight, a decent amount of weight it looks like, which is mad because Louis hadn't realized there was any weight that needed to be gained. 

"You look good," Louis tells him when they sit down on the sofa together, Harry's hand firm on Louis' knee. "Like, healthy. Really healthy."

Harry just gives him a small smile of pride. 

Harry's counselor, Dr. Amanda Brown, talks them through a few things. She gives Louis a brief rundown of what Harry's next few weeks are going to look like in regards to the IOP he's signed up for, an intensive outpatient program that'll help him transition back to everyday life. For the next ninety days, he'll be going to different meetings and appointments for three days a week. And he'll have a sponsor, someone named Emma, who he can call at anytime if he needs. 

"She might be helpful to you as well," Dr. Brown tells Louis. "So feel free to reach out to her if you have questions regarding Harry's recovery process."

Before this, Louis obviously knew that Harry is a drug addict, but this -- IOP, sponsors, talks about recovery -- makes it seem so much more real than it already did. 

Before they leave, Harry looks at her and asks, "How, like. How likely is it that I'll relapse? Like. A statistic."

She hesitates, and immediately, Louis feels his gut twist. "In general, relapses are common. And most of them happen in the first week of being let out of rehab. For our center specifically, sixty percent of our clients have reported a relapse, but that's -- don't let that scare you, let it motivate you."

Louis lets out a humorless laugh. Sixty percent. "And you guys are supposed to be the good ones." He can only imagine how hard the poor people of England struggle staying sober if a place like this can only give you a forty percent success rate. 

On the way to Baskin-Robbins, Harry's choice, Harry's very clearly overwhelmed. Louis doesn't know if it'd be best to ignore it or to try to get him to talk, so he chooses the latter and hopes for the best. 

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asks gently, and Harry shoots him a guilty look. 

That face makes Louis certain this is going to be very, very difficult. 

"Just," Harry sighs and looks down at his hands. "There's nothing at our house, right? Like, you guys went in there and threw everything out?"

Louis nods. He's trying to remain calm, trying to tell himself that Harry is just being cautious and not  _ planning _ on relapsing. "Yeah. Zayn and Nick did, and I came to London the other day just to make sure for myself." And it had been so, so painful to walk around that house because he couldn't help but remember every good time he and Harry had in it. 

"Cool," Harry mumbles, nodding. 

"You got this, H," Louis says, reaching over to grab his hand. He squeezes it tight, and he wishes he could look Harry in the eye right now to see what the fuck is going through his head, but he's driving. "You've already been clean forty-five days. That's amazing. That's -- I'm really fucking proud of you."

Harry nods again. "I know I can do this. I know I can. I just. . . it's going to be hard."

"Yeah, it will be. But not impossible."

Harry squeezes his hand at that, and Louis chances a look to see him smiling a little. "Not impossible," he agrees.

At Baskin-Robbins, Harry seems to be a lot more happy, and Louis' got the gut feeling it's just because he's in public and he knows someone is going to be watching. It seems mostly genuine though. 

"It was just, like, a bunch of rich people complaining about their problems," he says, around a mouthful of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Louis got regular chocolate with chocolate sauce. "There was this one lady who popped pills 'cause she hates her husband so much. She made a joke once that she was happily waiting for the day she accidentally killed herself, and," he makes a face, "yeah, the group counselor didn't laugh."

He tells Louis little stories like that, nothing major. Nothing about his own experience, which is okay. Louis doesn't need to know all the painful details if Harry doesn't want him to. 

They're just about to leave when someone comes up to them and asks Harry for a photo, and immediately, the smile is gone from Harry's face. His hand on Louis' lower back presses tighter and he flushes, and Louis gives the girl a kind smile. 

"We're actually in kind of a rush, sorry," Louis says, as polite as he can. "And if -- if you took any pictures, if you could delete them, that'd be great. Please."

She gets flustered and tells them over and over that she didn't, but within ten minutes of them leaving, pictures of Harry and Louis eating ice cream are blowing up Twitter. Within twenty minutes, there's a Twitter Moment about it. _ Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson Were Spotted Eating Ice Cream Together Today -- and it looked delicious. _ The little ice cream emoji they put next to the headline makes Louis so fucking angry. They probably knew reporting about Harry getting out of rehab upfront might gain some backlash, but they slipped in a few tweets from fans in the thread about it, so they got what they wanted. 

Harry says it's okay, that it doesn't bother him. Even if it's the truth, Louis doesn't fucking care. He wishes Harry could have anonymity, just for a few days. 

They spend the rest of the day at their house in London. It feels weird calling it 'theirs' still, considering Harry paid for it and all the furniture in it and also has been the only one living in it this past year, but Harry calls it that still, so Louis will too.

Louis paints Harry's fingernails for him, and as they dry, they start the latest season of the X-Factor. Then Harry calls his mum, and they talk for about forty-five minutes. Louis gets bored and starts painting Harry's toe nails, and Harry stares at him with a fond expression. 

Zayn gets in a few hours later. He's been staying here for a while now, making sure everything is tidy and ready for Harry to get back home. The plan was for Louis to leave tonight -- he wanted to stay the night, but Nick said maybe they shouldn't let Harry get used to Louis being there so much -- but at around nine, plans change. 

Louis is in the kitchen, washing a few plates, and Harry comes in. He leans against the counter and stares at Louis, and Louis glances up. Harry looks guilty. 

"What's wrong, H?" he asks, shutting off the water. He reaches over to grab the towel of the counter to dry off his hands. 

Harry looks down for a moment, and then looks back up at Louis. "If I stay here I'm going to relapse," he says, a little urgently. "I will. I can fucking feel it. I already have, like, ten dealers in mind, and they all live in London, and -- "

"Hey," Louis says soothingly. He sets his hands on Harry's shoulders and pulls him a little closer. He was preparing for this. "Just breathe, alright? Try not to think about it. Just -- "

"I already texted someone," Harry rushes out, eyes wide and cheeks pink. Louis stares at him, too shocked to say anything. "After dinner. I texted one of them."

Louis' arms fall back at his sides. "What did you say?"

"To come over tomorrow, early in the morning, so Zayn would still be sleeping. Told him to. . . to bring everything, and that I'd buy it off of him." He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. He genuinely looks sorry, but that doesn't make it any better. "I can't do it here. I can't. Maybe I -- maybe I should go back to rehab or something, do another thirty days. Or -- or I could go stay with my mum, in Holmes Chapel. I don't know. I just know that I can't do it here."

Louis is impossibly angry, but he can't let it show. Harry's being honest with him. He could have easily gone through with his plan, and he didn't. He stopped himself. He looked for help. And Louis has to help him. "You can stay with me," he says quietly. "Being with your mum all the time would just stress you out, I think. You can stay with me, if you want. In Doncaster."

Harry looks near tears. He crosses one arm over his chest and starts to bite at his thumbnail, and he looks towards the living room, probably hoping Zayn can't hear. "I can't ask you that."

"You're not. I'm offering."

Harry looks miserable. "The press will constantly be -- "

"They already are," Louis cuts off, slightly agitated. Whatever Harry was going to say is already true. 

A few tears fall down Harry's cheeks and he shakes his head. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I fucked your whole life up with my stupid shit, and I just," he lets out a sharp cry, "I just want to be better for you, and I can't even do that. I can't even -- "

It takes about ten minutes to calm Harry down, and by then, they're both on the kitchen floor, holding each other tightly. 

"You should call your sponsor," Louis tells him quietly. "She's there to help you."

And then Harry's crying again and telling him that he can't go to Doncaster with him if he wants to do IOP, which he obviously needs, and then he's back to saying that he can't do it here over and over and over again. 

"I can drive you, okay, it's not that far," Louis says quickly, even though it is. It's about a three and a half hour drive from Doncaster to London, and they'd have to do that three days a week for three months, but goddammit, Louis will do that. He'll do it for Harry, because Harry can't fall apart this early on. He can't. 

Harry calls his sponsor about a half hour later, and as he talks to her, Louis holds him tightly in bed and Zayn packs him a bag of clothes to take with him to Doncaster. 

"You going tonight?" Zayn asks quietly, and Louis nods. 

"I don't think we have a choice."

Zayn nods. "Can I come with? Just for a little while?"

Louis gives him a tired smile. "As long as you aren't allergic to cats, sure."

Harry pauses then, and lifts his head of Louis' shoulder. "You have a cat?"

"Yeah, he's lovely," Louis says. "Now hush and go back to your phone call."

Harry scoffs quietly and rolls his eyes before tucking his head back against Louis' shoulder and mumbling something to Emma.

-

They get to Doncaster just after midnight, and Harry is sleeping soundly in the passenger seat. He was supposed to take over driving halfway, but he was already asleep, and Louis didn't want to bother him. 

Thankfully, there are no paps outside yet, so Louis can guide a half-asleep Harry to his flat and to the bed. Harry genuinely must be exhausted, because he doesn't say a word and is back asleep within two minutes. Louis joins him after refilling Bongo's water bowl and giving him a cat treat as an apology for being away all day. 

-

Harry is sober for exactly six days after he gets out of rehab. Can't even make it a week before he gets his hands on heroin again and shoots up. 

It's not the fact that he did it that makes Louis angry, it's the amount of thought that went into it. Harry texted some dealer in London to meet him after a IOP meeting in a bathroom at the same Baskin-Robbins he and Louis went to the day he got out, and then Harry convinced Louis to take him back there and they ate ice cream like everything was okay. Harry went to the bathroom just before they left, and he had heroin stuffed in his coat pocket the entire ride home and didn't say a word. When they got home, he waited a half hour, went in the shower, and then shot up, with Zayn and Louis just out in the living room. 

Harry barely even tried to hide it. He must've not thought that far ahead, or didn't care if he got caught, so long if it was after he already did it. He went to their room after his shower and laid in their bed, completely naked and barely coherent. The needle was haphazardly hidden in dirty pajama pants that were laying on the floor, next to the bed. 

When Louis found him like that, barely human and naked on the bed, his mind immediately went to heroin and he felt guilty for it. He fucking felt guilty. That's stupid, he thought, where would Harry even get it from? But then he asked Harry what he was doing, and Harry let out a slurred, misshapen, "Nothing, Lou, I'm fine," and immediately, Louis knew he was high. 

That was five and a half hours ago, and Louis hasn't spoken to him at all. He refuses to. He lets Zayn to be the one to call Nick and tell him, lets him handle Harry's guilt and sadness and whatever the fuck else he's feeling right now. He just sits in the living room, positively fuming. He lets Nick in when he gets here, but he doesn't say anything to him either. All he does is give him a sharp look when Nick tells him there's paparazzi outside. He fucking knows that. 

He's not even disappointed, it's just anger. So, so much anger. He'll feel the rest later, disappointment and betrayal and insecurity, but right now, he's boiling in anger and anger alone. Louis expects that the sadness will crash eventually, and probably soon, although it didn't when he heard Harry sobbing hysterically on the bathroom floor after he puked and was basically screaming how sorry he was to Nick. If that didn't make him sad, he doesn't know what will. 

"He threw up again," Zayn tells him as he comes out of the bedroom to grab a water out of the fridge, presumably for Harry. "The withdrawal doesn't seem too bad, but Nick says if he doesn't stop throwing up by morning we should take him to the hospital."

Louis nods. He feels completely numb to that right now. "That, like, the fifth time he's thrown up?"

"Sixth."

"Jesus Christ."

"He knows you're pissed at him," Zayn says after a minute, and Louis looks at him incredulously, thinking Zayn is berating him for that. "Hey, no. I'm just saying, he feels it. He knows he fucked up, and he knows you aren't going to coddle him. I just thought. . . I don't know. Just thought that's what you wanted, him knowing."

Louis shrugs. Maybe he does. Maybe he wants to hurt Harry. He doesn't fucking know. All he knows is that Harry's vomiting in his bed right now and all he wants to do is go to sleep. 

-

Harry's apologies come around two o'clock in the morning. Nobody is asleep yet, because Harry's keeping them all awake by crying so bloody loud. And because they're all worried about him. That too. Louis can't deny he's worried sick. 

Louis' talking quietly to Nick about whatever stupid show they're watching, he doesn't even know what it is, when Harry comes out to the living room, sniffling loudly and wiping at his eyes. "I need to talk to Louis," he says to Nick. "I -- I need to talk to him."

Louis stares straight ahead at the TV. "I don't want to talk to you, Harry."

"But Louis -- "

"No," Louis snaps, standing up and glaring at him. "I don't have anything to say to you, except for maybe that the next time you decide to leave a dirty heroin needle on the fucking floor, remember I have a fucking cat." He storms past Harry and completely blocks out the way Harry sobs out his name and tries to reach for him. He goes to his room, which smells like fucking puke and air freshener, and tells Zayn to get out. 

"Let me just help you clean up," Zayn says, pulling himself out of bed. And Louis doesn't want to deal with changing the sheets and pillowcases by himself, so he does let Zayn help. 

"You or Nick can sleep in here with me, I don't care," he says, and even though he tries to keep his anger away from Zayn, there's still an edge to his voice.

"I'll stay with Haz."

And then, as if he heard his name and thought Louis was the one who said it, Harry comes into the bedroom hiccuping on sobs and begging Louis to listen to him. 

"Please, Lou, please, just let me explain," he cries, and by the way he's squeezing his hands together makes Louis question if he's entirely sober yet. There's no way he isn't; it's been far too long since he used. So he's just hysterical then. 

"Explain what?" Louis snaps, after the fourth time Harry says it. "You fucking used me and lied to my face to get your hands on it again. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it anyway, because you don't fucking care."

Harry looks painfully devastated. "I do care, I do care, I -- "

"I don't want to hear it," Louis interrupts. "At all. You don't have my sympathy. Go out in the living room, and don't talk to me."

Harry lets out a loud cry, and Zayn sighs and sets down the pillow he was putting a pillowcase on. He grabs Harry's shoulders and tries to gently steer him out, and Harry pushes him away at first, tells him to fuck off, but Zayn is insistent. 

"Let's go to bed, Haz," Zayn tries, and Harry shakes his head. 

"Not until he forgives me."

"He's not going to forgive you," Zayn says. "None of us are. You can't expect to do things and then not face the consequences. But it is late, and you do have to go to bed. You have IOP in the morning."

"I'm not fucking going to that, are you insane?" Harry seethes, pushing him off. It's rough, the way he shoves Zayn. Rougher than Louis thought he was capable of. 

Zayn scoffs. "You're right, you probably shouldn't. Wouldn't make sense to be there, would it? When all those other people are sill fucking sober and you couldn't even last a week."

It's cruel. Too cruel, maybe. But Louis doesn't call him out on it, because he's pretty sure what he said was the truth, anyway. 

-

Harry is a complete and total disaster the next day. 

He flips from being angry to absolutely crushed, off and on all day. It's getting on everyone's nerves, but Louis stays out of it every time and mostly sticks to sitting in his room with Bongo and ignoring that mess. Whenever he leaves his room, Harry's on him, pleading and begging and sometimes yelling at him to listen, and every time, Louis tells him that he doesn't want to talk to him. 

Nick comes in his room around seven, and the two of them talk about everything. About what to do next, about what this means. They both agree putting Harry back into rehab isn't completely necessary right now, although it will be if it happens again. 

"We do have to give him credit for not being a total idiot, though," Nick says, leaning back against Louis' pillows. "He didn't take the dosage he's used to. They must've taught him that if he's going to relapse, then he shouldn't think his body can tolerate the same amount it used to. He'd be dead right now, undoubtedly, if he even had half of what he used to take."

And that makes Louis relieved for all of two seconds, and then he realizes that means that Harry thought it out even more, and he's back to being angry. 

"Hey, Lou?" Nick says, turning to look at him.

Louis hums quietly as a response.

"Why the fuck did you name your cat Bongo?"

Louis smiles and glances down at Bongo, who is cleaning himself at the bottom of the bed. "I have no fucking clue."

-

Just as Louis and Nick are getting settled in bed for the night, Harry comes barging into his room demanding to speak with him. This is his twelfth attempt of the day, Louis' been counting, and right about now, he looks more determined than he has all day. 

Louis stares at him. "I'm going to sleep."

"You can't just keep ignoring me," Harry says. "I fucked up, yeah, but how long are you going to punish me for it? What do you want me to do? I can't go back in time, and I can't make you forget, so what the fuck do you want me to do?"

Louis shakes his head. Harry doesn't get it. 

"There's nothing you can do," Louis tells him. 

Harry furrows his eyebrows. "Then how do you expect me to fix it?"

"You can't."

"So, what?" Harry asks. "You're going to hate me forever?"

Louis shakes his head. "Not forever."

"Until when?" he asks, sounding helpless. 

"Until I can look at you and not feel like a complete idiot for trusting you," Louis says, and it's cold, and it makes Harry flinch.

He expects to hear more excuses, or more pleas, or at the very least, another sorry, but Harry takes a deep breath and nods. "That's fair," he says quietly. "I guess I deserve that." And that's him taking accountability for this, not that he wasn't before, but Louis didn't expect it. 

Harry lets out a loud sigh before turning around and going back to the living room, and as he goes, Louis can't help but feel like a monster. He's denying Harry comfort in a very difficult time, and it's -- it is justified. He knows it is. He knows he's not doing anything wrong. But it still makes him feel like shit about himself. 

-

Louis can't sleep, and around four in the morning he gives up on trying to. He gets out of bed, careful not to wake Nick or Bongo, and goes to the bathroom. Once he's done, he heads to the kitchen to get something to drink, and Harry's sitting on the kitchen floor, coloring in his tattoos with a marker. Louis squints at him, trying to figure out if it's a heroin thing or a Harry thing, and he can't tell so he sighs and asks Harry what he's doing. 

Harry glances up at him with watery, red eyes. He doesn't look like he's going to cry, just that he's been doing it all night. "Cravings are really bad right now," he mumbles, looking back down at his arm. He's working on the mermaid one right now. "Feel like itching, and I don't want to do that, and the internet said drawing on yourself helps, so."

"Is it? I mean, is it helping?"

Harry shrugs. "Not really. But I'm still kind of entertained." He turns his arm so Louis can get a good look at the drawing just below his rose tattoo. "It's a penguin. Supposed to be, anyway."

Louis raises his eyebrows and nods. "You should get it tattooed for real."

"Might."

Louis goes to the fridge and grabs a water, and as he uncaps it and drinks, he wonders what he should do. Should he let go of his anger and keep Harry company? He doesn't know. But Harry looks worn down right now, like he could use someone, so Louis decides he can be there for Harry while also not letting go of his anger entirely. 

He sits down beside Harry, and Harry looks at him, clearly surprised. He must realize he shouldn't push it, because he looks back down at his arm and keeps coloring, not saying anything. 

"How severe are your cravings right now?" Louis asks quietly, a few minutes later. He's been watching Harry work on his tattoos, and he's now on the rose. He's just outlining this one. 

"Bad," Harry says. "But not. . . not as bad as they can be. It doesn't feel like I'm going to die if I don't get a fix, it just feels like I really, really want one."

Louis nods slowly, pretending like he understands any of this. "And the other day? What'd you feel like then?"

"Like I needed it, and if I didn't get it, I'd die. It's -- it's hard to explain." He caps the marker and turns his body more to Louis. "And I want you to know, like. I know it's my fault. I know that it was my choice, and that if I really wanted to, I could have stopped myself. I had the resources to, and I neglected them, and," he takes a deep breath. "And I played you to get what I wanted, and that's fucked up. I know it is. I knew it was when I was doing it. I just -- I'm just sorry, okay? I really am."

Everything he's saying sounds like he's been fed it, through his sponsor or through therapy. It doesn't sound like those are his own words. He sounds like he means them, though, so Louis can't be mad at that. 

Harry opens the marker again and goes back to drawing on his skin. "When I was in rehab, I remember sitting there thinking, like, 'God, I'm never going to do this to myself again'. The withdrawal period was fucking brutal, and it was painful, even with the medicine they were giving me to try and help. It was -- it was terrible. And I thought that's what I needed to feel. Like, the pain? I thought that'd be enough of a motivator to keep me clean, but then this one time, this guy asked the group if we would take our drug of choice right then, if we were given it. And my immediate reaction was yes, I would. I totally would."

Louis pulls his legs up to his chest. "What'd everyone else say?"

"Most of them said they wouldn't." He scoffs quietly. "Most of them were fucking liars."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm just saying, like. It scares me, you know? How deeply rooted it is in me. Feels like I have no chance at staying sober."

And Louis doesn't want to waste his breath telling Harry's that's not true, because he knows Harry's been told that a hundred times already. If he doesn't know by now that it is possible for him to be sober, then maybe it isn't. 

Harry sighs. "Zayn made me go through my phone and delete everyone's number," he says quietly. "Like, everyone's. I think I have ten people in my contact's list now."

Louis nods. "Smart of him."

"I should've done that days ago," Harry says. "I don't know why I didn't. It should've been the first thing I did when I got out."

Louis should have thought of that too, especially after Harry told him in London that he texted that dealer. Hindsight is everything, isn't it. 

"Nick told me that the internet ate you alive while I was in," Harry whispers. He sounds guilty, and out of all the things Harry has to be guilty for, that's not one of them. "I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it by now, Haz."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry for that too." He caps the marker and then drags it across his skin, like he's doodling on his arm still, just without the ink. Louis doesn't understand what he's doing, but he supposes it doesn't really matter. "Do you ever regret it?" Harry asks. "Getting with someone like me. I mean, you had no way of knowing how hard it'd be on you in the beginning. I didn't warn you enough."

Louis' first instinct is to say yes, that sometimes he does regret it, and he thinks it's the truth. But there's nothing he would change if it meant not knowing Harry. Harry is one of his favorite people in the world. "I don't regret it, no. It is pretty shit sometimes, though."

"Yeah, I know."

It's quiet for a few minutes. Harry continues doing whatever it is he's doing with the capped marker, and Louis just sits and watches. 

Eventually, Harry says, "I want to go to sleep, but I don't want you to stop being near me."

"Nick's in my bed. The three of us wouldn't fit, even if I did let you sleep with me."

It sounds harsher than he meant it to, but he doesn't apologize for it. 

"I'm sleeping on the floor, so." Harry shrugs and gives him a hopeful smile. "There's plenty of room for you on the floor."

Louis frowns. "You're sleeping on the floor?"

"Zayn got pissy and said he didn't like sleeping in the chair, and that I didn't deserve the comfy couch. And I'm too tall to sleep in that chair, so yeah, the floor it is. It's not bad though. Like, I'm not complaining."

"You and Zayn are lanky enough to share that couch comfortably," Louis says, sighing. He pulls himself to his feet and looks down at Harry, trying to figure out what to do with him. 

"Zayn's pissed at me," Harry mumbles, looking down. "He doesn't really want to be near me."

Louis sighs again. "Alright, come on. You can sleep in my bed."

Harry shakes his head. "It's fine, Louis. I know you don't want me to. The floor is fine."

"Come on," Louis says again. Harry looks up at him, and he looks unsure of what to do. "Just don't wake Nick, because he's a dick when you accidentally wake him up."

Harry smiles a little. "Yeah, he is."

Louis tries to hold onto some of his anger in the form of denying Harry cuddles, but Louis' bed isn't all that big and Nick is taking up a lot of space, so there's no other option. Harry makes himself small against Louis' side, and he whispers an apology into his chest. Louis doesn't tell him that it's okay, but he does pat his arm and squeeze his shoulder. 

He couldn't sleep all night, and yet like this, with Harry tucked up next to him, he falls asleep within a few minutes. 

-

Harry goes back to doing IOP the following week, and although the people in charge there grill him for not taking his recovery seriously, he's welcomed back. Louis feels like the three and a half hour drive is pointless now; before, it was okay because it was helping Harry stay sober, and now Harry's barely a week sober and it doesn't feel the same. 

The days slowly add up again. Ten, twenty, thirty. They're back up to fifty within no time, and then they're at sixty, and although Louis is proud of him for breaking his previous fifty-one day record, he still can't help but feel bitter knowing that Harry could've been at hundred days clean by now if he hadn't slipped up. 

It's hard for Harry. Beyond difficult. Outside of his appointments, he doesn't go outside much because he doesn't trust himself and he doesn't want to deal with paps or fans. He also has to deal with the struggle of wanting alcohol; apparently, Harry's expected to be sober from everything. 

"I'm not giving up weed, though," Harry almost snapped the night he admitted to Louis that he wanted a beer so bad that it almost hurt. He thought Louis was going to give him shit for it, but he couldn't care less. Weed is fine. Alcohol even seems harmless enough to Louis, but when he hesitantly tells Harry that one night, Harry shakes his head and tells him that it's because he associates drinking with doing drugs too much, and that he knows that drinking will take him down the wrong path. 

Harry stays off of social media and away from the public eye as much as possible, which becomes somewhat difficult when they approach events and other things that Harry already signed a contract committing to before he went into rehab. Louis and Nick shield Harry from angry companies and management people, because he doesn't need to deal with that stress. He doesn't need to know that his label threatened to drop him when the deadline they gave him for his next album was approaching and Nick told them that it wasn't happening. That stressed  _ Louis _ out massively, even though he wasn't dealing with as many calls as Nick was about it. Harry couldn't have handled that stress sober. 

On the hundredth day of him being clean, Harry decides he wants to post something on Twitter. He's excited about it, excited about sharing a victory with his fans when he feels like all he's been giving them are failures, and Louis feels like an asshole telling him that maybe he shouldn't say how many days clean he is. 

"They'll do the math, babe, and realize you slipped up," Louis says, trying to will away the hurt look on Harry's face. "I just don't want you getting any shit for making one mistake."

"It was only one time," Harry mumbles, looking down at his phone. 

"I know. I know. And you can post it if you want, obviously, but I just felt like it had to be said." He sets a hand on Harry's back. 

Harry ends up going through with the post, and his silence on social media is finally put to an end with a simple picture of Bongo with his tummy up and a caption that reads,  _ 100 days clean as of today. Feeling like this cat. _ And it indirectly confirms that Louis and Harry are back together, because Louis hasn't posted anything but his cat in an embarrassingly long time. 

And they are back together, kind of. Mostly. No, they are, but it's just -- it's different between them. They've never got to live a life where they spend all day together in bed and ignore the outside world. And Harry's guilt for everything has never loosened any, and Louis still finds himself being bitter and scared that Harry's going to relapse again. It's hard to move past that fear when it's very, very possible. 

There are still days that Harry gets so antsy and erratic that Louis doesn't feel content being in a different room from him. He didn't expect the cravings to haunt Harry for this long, and maybe that is on him. Nobody told him it would be any different. It's just hard, seeing Harry struggle so much. He doesn't deserve it, not at all. 

It's also different because Louis has almost never been around a sober Harry. He was constantly high before rehab, and it's not like he's a different person, it's just. Different. Harry doesn't seem to be as rushed as he used to. Maybe that's just because he's not a tight schedule anymore, Louis doesn't really know, but still. It's new. Different. 

Until now, he's never noticed how lonely Harry might've been before. All he has is Zayn, Nick and Louis. It's maddening; there were always tens of people around Harry, and now there are only three. Harry has told him he doesn't mind it, that having the three of them in his corner is like having a thousand, but Louis knows that in bothers him deep down. It would bother anyone. He doesn't even really have his mum. 

Although that part is kind of Harry. Kind of. Anne would love to hear from Harry more, but Harry doesn't want to call, and with good reason. He feels like Anne only wants him for the good parts. And neither of them mention that the same thing could've been said about Louis after he left him. Harry's also deathly afraid of relapsing again and breaking his mother's heart, and he's still so ashamed of how he yelled at her the last time he saw her, so he deals with it by not calling home all that often and not visiting.

Harry's sober, though. That's how Louis justifies everything; he's sober, and he's happy on most days, and Louis doesn't have to constantly stress that he's going to overdo it. It takes a lot of pressure off of both of them.

-

It's eight months after rehab that Harry wants to go back to work, and it's terrifying. 

For a while, Harry's desires to return to his old life are halted by Nick, Louis and Zayn's hesitance. _ Wait a little longer. Your recovery is still pretty fragile. One slip up messes up everything. It's going to be incredibly difficult to handle everything sober.  _

It only works for so long, though, and they reach a point where Harry is beyond frustrated and can't be deterred any longer. 

"I want us to move back to London," Harry tells him. "I want to stay there for a bit, and I'm going to start writing more seriously. If I can't focus on writing in London, then we'll go off somewhere else. Malibu, or something."

And that's just -- whenever Harry and his friends go off somewhere to write, nobody --  _ nobody _ \-- is even the tiniest bit sober. Harry must know that, that's probably why it's a back-up plan, so maybe Louis should give him some credit for taking responsibility, but it's just. Louis hopes and prays that London will be a good enough place for Harry to write. 

"I wish you trusted me more," Harry whispers into Louis' skin the night before they're due to move back to London. (Louis quit his job a long time ago, Harry's going to pay rent on this flat so Louis doesn't have to give it up, and of course Bongo is going to come along. Harry fucking loves that cat.) "I totally understand why you don't, it just makes me sad."

“I do trust you, babe."

Harry presses his nose into Louis' shoulder. "You think I'm going to relapse the second we get to London."

"I think it's going to be a hell of a lot harder than you think it will be."

And it is. The transition from Doncaster to London is not a smooth one. First of all, it's a big change. That's enough to stress anyone out. And it's also the city where Harry ran around with heroin-filled veins all the time. It's where he got high the first time. And the house -- it's hard for Harry, pretending like the drawer next to his bed wasn't once filled with drugs, and that the bed wasn't the same one he hit an artery on, and that Harry didn't shoot up on that couch, on that chair, at that dining table, on the patio. . . 

Louis suggests they move, that they start fresh, when Harry asks that they spend the day deep-cleaning the house because it feels dirty. At the offer, Harry recoils and lets out a pained laugh. 

"I don't think I can handle the stress of moving right now," Harry says, shaking his head.

"We could move to a gated community," Louis mumbles, knowing he shouldn't push it when Harry tells him his limits. It's just -- the paps know where Harry lives. The fans know where Harry lives. Both parties abuse that knowledge. It was easier to dodge the paparazzi in Doncaster than it is here; here, they are quite literally parked outside Harry's house constantly. Harry already hates going out of the house, is already so on edge that he's going to mess up and relapse again, and now there are people outside to document it. 

Harry glances at the window with the curtains pulled tight. "Maybe when I feel more settled here. Maybe. . . yeah, maybe that'd be good. But not now."

There's also the issue of friends. Harry wants to go out with his mates and have fun like they used to, but the way they used to have fun isn't how Harry can live anymore. He knows he'll cave and join in if people are drinking or doing drugs around him, and he's too reserved and nice to ask that there be some boundaries set, so he barely goes out with anyone other than Nick, Louis or Zayn. And even then: Nick has a lot of alcohol in his house, and it stresses Harry out. 

"I don't even know why," he says to Louis one night. He's frustrated. "It's not like I'm going to down half a bottle of vodka the moment he turns away. It's not like Nick would let me drink. There's literally no reason for me to get that way at his house, but -- he has a whole fucking wine cooler, and it feels like I'm doing something bad just being around it."

Harry and his therapist are working on the whole going out thing, although Harry doesn't seem to agree with almost everything his therapist says, so Louis' not sure how constructive their time together is. Harry likes going, though, and that's all that really matters. 

And when he does go out with people other then the three of them -- a baby shower, a wedding, a birthday party -- he needs Louis to be right next to him. He doesn't trust himself at all, and that worries Louis massively. At the baby shower, Louis got up to run to the car really quickly, and Harry looked lost and overwhelmed immediately. 

"It's a baby shower," Louis whispered to him. "There's nothing here to even get your hands on."

"Don't doubt my capabilities," Harry mumbled, giving him a shy smile like he wanted it to be a joke but it fell too close to the truth. 

Despite everything, Harry manages to focus fine on his songwriting in London, and it's about all he works on day in and day out. Louis' been around for countless songwriting sessions, but he'll never get over how fascinating it is to watch Harry's mind work. There are nights that he gets a string of words stuck in his head or wants to try something on the guitar or piano and he has to pull himself out of bed to get out of his system. He likes to show Louis what he's working on, giving him updates constantly and playing him what he has, and those times are when Harry's the happiest and the most focused and not thinking about anything else. 

Within a few months, Harry has written a seventeen-track album by himself, save for one song he wrote with Zayn. He'd produce it himself if he could, and he looks tempted to try; studio days are long and stressful and he doesn't want to deal with it all. 

And then the album is produced and ready to go, and Nick and Harry withhold it from his label for a little while because they all know what comes next. 

"Doing promo sober sounds impossible," Harry admits, "and then a tour? I don't. . . I don't know if I could do it."

But then word gets leaked that Harry has an album on the way, and they all know it was Harry's bosses who leaked it. Just because they didn't get to hear the album doesn't mean they didn't know there was one, and now Harry's stuck with deciding if he prioritizes his health and safety over not disappointing his fans, and Louis can't say he's surprised when Harry chooses the latter. 

It all happens so fast: the first single is released. Then the second. There are no music videos because Harry didn't want to do one and his team didn't want to step on his toes too much. Then the album drops, and then tour sales, and then Harry and Louis are staring at a calendar mapping out the next thirteen months of Harry's life, and they're both a little more than overwhelmed. 

"You can cancel," Louis says. "Any show that comes at a bad time, you can just cancel it."

Harry ignores him and points at an entry made for next week. It just says ‘interview with Zane Lowe’, and Louis doesn't understand why that's a problem. "That's the interview they want me to talk about my addiction in," he says, sounding crushed. "I told them I didn't want to talk about it publicly."

"Then don't," Louis says fiercely, grabbing his hand. "It's your shit, not there's. And it's not like they can force the words out of your mouth."

It manages to settle Harry down for now, and then there's an announcement on Twitter that Harry's going to discuss his addiction next Friday with Zane Lowe (stay tuned!) and Harry cries for a long, long time. And the worst part of it is that Nick seems to agree that Harry has to address it publicly, even if he doesn't want to. 

"They're just trying to fix up your image, Haz," Nick says quietly, guilty, as he sits down next to Harry on the bed. Harry shakes his head and pulls the blankets over him further. 

"My album sales are the highest they've ever been. They're playing my songs on radio, which they've never done before. The public doesn't give a shit about my image. There's nothing to fix."

Nick sighs. "H, they -- "

"They're trying to get back the money they lost from me not working this past year," Harry snaps, glaring at Nick. "I'm not stupid. And I know the reason you aren't fighting for my say is because that money is going in your pocket, too."

"That is _ not _ true," Nick hisses, eyes wide. "Are they fucking you over? Yes. They've barely given you a say in anything, I'm aware of that. But I'm just your manager, Harry. I don't always get a say either."

"I'm not talking about it," Harry says firmly. "They aren't stealing any more of my privacy."

Nick warns him it's a bad idea, but when Harry does the interview, he evades every attempt made from the interviewer trying to give him room to make a statement about his addiction. Lowe must not be stupid, he must value Harry's comfort levels over the script he was given from his team, because he eventually changes topics after too many roundabout answers from Harry. 

The interview is released the next day, and it causes a stir. To the public, Harry came across defensive and hostile. To his fans, he was clearly uncomfortable and they're taking it out on the interviewer. To the press, Harry must be doing drugs again and that's why he doesn't want to talk about it. 

_ Harry Styles' Downfall Starts Now _ is the headline that gets to Harry, almost as bad as the one that reads,  _ The Industry's Sweetheart Is Not So Sweet Anymore. _

"I've become a public spectacle," Harry says lowly, glaring out at their backyard. "I'm not Harry to them anymore. I have an interesting story now. They don't have to pretend to care about anything else."

While Harry's in the tub taking a hot bath with a joint in one hand and his phone in the other -- he won't get off Twitter, no matter what Louis tries to tell him -- Louis gets on Twitter himself and does his best at defending him. He chooses to go after the company who released the downfall article first; he screenshots it and Tweets,  _ Downfall ? You left out how his sales are doing better than ever . And how he's healthier than he's ever been. Get a real job please !  _

And that doesn't satisfy him enough, so he goes after the other site who said Harry was no longer the industry's sweetheart.  _ So many of your 'idols' are high out of their minds all the time , how is it the one who chooses to take care of himself is the villain ? good to kno that you think all addicts are bad people . real helpful in defeating the stigma . Hope it's not too late to get a refund from wherever you got your degree haha . _

And then he goes after a few shitheads in his mentions, especially the ones who are verified. He rips into them as harshly as he can, says everything that he knows Harry wants to say and then some. He's in the middle of ripping into some irrelevant YouTuber who says that addiction is a choice when Harry calls for him in the bathroom. 

"Louuuis!" he shouts, laughing. "You're going to get me in trouble!"

"One minute!" he calls back, and he finishes his tweet and presses send. He sends one more, a tweet that's not directed at anyone in particular that reads, _ treat people with kindness and all that shit . _ with the middle finger emoji. He sends it mostly to hear Harry laugh, which comes shortly after he presses send. 

He puts his phone away and heads to the bathroom, where Harry is no longer smoking because Bongo joined him in the bathroom. He's smiling so Louis knows he didn't cross a line, and Louis sits on the edge of the tub. Harry grabs his hand, getting the edge of Louis' sleeve wet. 

"You can't call the Pauls cunts and then tell other people to be kind," Harry says, grinning. It's a sharp contrast from how defeated he looked earlier. 

Louis shrugs and kisses the top of his hand. "Just did, so."

Harry nods, still smiling. "Yeah, you did, didn't you? And I'm probably going to get a call from my team any minute telling me to get you off Twitter."

"Sorry. I can tweet at them too, if you want." He's mostly joking, but he totally would if Harry wanted him to. 

"No, no, don't," Harry says, laughing. He leans his head back against the tub. "Nick is probably shitting himself right now."

"With laughter? He doesn't care what I do. He agrees with me."

Harry shakes his head, and his smile slowly fades. "He's on thin ice with the rest of my team. That's why he was trying to push me to just do what they wanted me to in the interview. He told me last night."

"They can't fire him. He's  _ your  _ manager."

"Yeah, I know, but still. They're giving him a lot of shit. They tried to sack him after he let me go to rehab, I guess. He didn't run the statement by them beforehand, and it pissed a lot of people off." He looks down at the water and messes with the bubbles. "That's why he rushed me getting in so much. He didn't want anyone else getting in my ear, telling me things I just wanted to hear."

Louis nods. Nick didn't tell him all this, but he could have guessed it. 

"I'd probably be dead by now, if I didn't go to rehab," Harry says quietly. He looks back up at Louis, and he looks guilty. "I knew I was sort of overdoing it after you left me, but now, like. Looking back at it now, I'm lucky I didn't die. I was using so often.  _ So _ often."

It's not the most important thing that Harry said, but Louis can't help but asking, "There's no hard feeling for that, right? Me walking out on you?"

Harry shakes his head immediately and grips Louis' hand tighter. "Not at all. You weren't happy. I was hurt, yeah, but, like. You needed to get away from me, I knew you did. I knew that before we got married, that you weren't going to last much longer. . . was just happy that you stuck around as long as you did, to be honest."

By Harry's serious expression, it's obvious he believes what he's saying, but that doesn't make Louis feel any less guilty. Guilty, not regretful. He doesn't regret leaving Harry. It had to be done, for both of them. "Not gonna leave you again, though," he says quietly, hoping Harry knows that's the truth. 

Harry smiles gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You better not. I got sober for you, which is the hardest thing I've ever done." Louis makes a face, and Harry quickly shakes his head. "And for me. I got healthy for me too. But I couldn't have done it without you."

Louis squeezes his fingers and leans down to kiss Harry, and Harry thankfully doesn't pull him in the bath with him, fully-clothed, like Louis would've done to him. 

-

Tour isn't actually all that bad. 

It's rocky at first, although it always is, isn't it? In the beginning, Harry's genuinely stressed about going literally anywhere outside of where he's supposed to, like even if he just goes to a shop or two with Louis, then he'll somehow accidentally shoot up on heroin. It's worrying, and Louis tries his hardest to build up Harry's trust in himself in any way they can. 

Which includes a lot of early morning walking in whatever city they're in now. Not a lot of people are out at four, five, six a.m., so Louis and Harry explore the city in their quiet little way. It's fun, and Harry seems content walking around with Louis, but it's also unsettling. Harry used to go out and party every night, and he loved it. 

Slowly, they work up from there. They start going inside small little shops and local events and tourist destinations. Crowds make Harry a bit antsy; he doesn't like feeling like people are watching him anymore. He doesn't want attention, he just wants to blend in. He doesn't want to be anyone special. 

In Detroit, where Louis thinks it'll still be low-key enough for them to get around with only a few fans stopping them, Louis convinces Harry to take him to an art museum (not his thing, but Harry liked it, and that's what he wanted) and then they head somewhere to eat. It's fine, everything's fine, and the last thing either of them to expect is to wake up the next day to Twitter talking about Harry's alleged relapse. 

Harry wakes him hurriedly from their hotel room in Chicago, and Louis asks him what's wrong and Harry shows him his phone. The tweet is of a picture Harry took with a fan at the restaurant they went to, and it's a normal picture, but according to the fifty thousand people who liked it, Harry's pupils look small and he's wearing a short-sleeve shirt which leaves his fading track marks visible on his arm.

That tweet alone is based on pure speculation and misguided information, and all it does is cause for more pictures to be dug up from the last few months Harry's been in the public eye again. Pictures of him looking tired or a little worn down, or where his eyes maybe look a little red. One tweet with a few thousand likes points out that he wears a lot of shirts with long sleeves, and  _ what is he hiding? _ and Louis kind of wants to punch someone. 

"Just ignore it," Louis says firmly, handing Harry back his phone. "They don't know anything."

But Harry looks devastated, even in the dark. " _ So _ many people liked it, Louis. That means they agree." He looks down at his phone and wipes at his forehead. "I look normal in this picture. I look -- what do they see that I don't? I mean, yeah, there are marks on my arm, but if they were new, they'd look worse. They -- they're mostly gone, that's why I didn't bother covering them with makeup. I didn't think. . . " he trails off, staring down at his phone intently. 

Louis sighs. "Babe, you're an ex-heroin user, of course you're going to have track marks in some places. Those don't always fade, and anyone with half a brain cell would know that. They just want a story."

"But -- "

"I know you're clean," Louis interrupts. "You know you're clean. That's what matters." 

Harry doesn't look convinced, and he won't stop staring at his phone, so Louis asks him if he wants him to tweet on his behalf. Harry agrees quicker than Louis thought he would.

"I don't want them thinking I'm using again," Harry says sadly. "Don't be mean, but. . . I don't want them thinking that I'm still using. Makes me feel cheated."

Louis quotes the tweet from a shitty newspaper that picked up the "story" and writes what he feels like, ignoring Harry's suggestion that he's nice about it.  _ Slow news day ? A person's eyes go small in the light and an addict has scars from using for years -- breaking news ! Read a book . Might do you good .  _ And in a separate tweet: _ He's sober . He's going to stay sober . But believe it or not , accusing an addict of relapsing when they haven't and you have zero proof to say they have is damaging . He decided to share this part of his life with you all . Don't be pricks about it . _

He clicks send on that one too, and when he goes to his Twitter feed, he sees a new tweet from Harry from only a few seconds ago. It's a picture of Bongo laying in the sunlight that was taken from a few months ago with a blue heart. Louis knows that heart is meant to symbolize addiction recovery; the ribbon for that is turquoise. Idiots online will not make that connection, but it doesn't matter. 

"Now go back to sleep," Louis says sternly, pushing at Harry's chest gently. Harry lies back in the hotel's bed and grabs Louis' hand, putting it on his chest to hold. He does end up falling back to sleep, which is a good sign. 

-

They don't reach dangerous territory until they get to LA. As soon as they get to their hotel, after driving through the city for a bit from the airport, Harry gives Louis a wary look and admits that this will probably be the hardest part. 

"These last three shows in LA are your last, and then we go home," Louis reminds him, coming over to pull him in for a hug. "You're over a year and a half sober already. Los Angeles is just another American city with high drug rates, alright? Don't worry about it. You got this."

And Harry does have it. He gets through the shows seamlessly. The after party is when things go shaky. 

And no, Harry doesn't relapse. He doesn't even think about it. Well, of course he does, but he doesn't think twice about going back to Louis and telling him they need to leave as soon as he sees someone snorting cocaine off the bar. 

"The drinking is one thing," Harry says, sounding slightly panicked. He still has trust issues with himself. It still breaks Louis' heart. "But I can't -- knowing there's shit here is making me feel not okay, and I don't want to be here anymore."

"Who was it?" Louis asks, twisting out of Harry's hold to try and spot whatever stupid fuckhead brought drugs to a recovering addict's party. Maybe it's unreasonable, expecting people to alter their lives because of Harry's problem, but Louis doesn't care. Harry wanted to have fun tonight. He  _ was _ having fun, even with mostly everyone around him drunk or at least tipsy. He's slowly gotten used to people drinking around him. 

"Doesn't matter," Harry mumbles, shaking his head. "She probably doesn't know, alright, and it's -- it's fine. I'm not angry. I just don't want to be here anymore."

"Take him home," Nick says, standing up. "I'll go find this lady who thinks -- "

"Nick, don't," Harry tries, but Nick just shakes his head and kisses Harry's cheek before going off towards the direction of the bar. Zayn stands, and Harry shoots him a mean look. 

"I was just going to go home with you guys," Zayn says evenly. "That cool?"

Harry nods, his gaze softening. "Yes, of course."

Zayn, Louis and Harry head to Harry's house in California, and Louis' fully expecting to have to deal with Harry's struggles tonight -- and he's okay with that, he is; Harry's allowed to struggle -- but Harry doesn't seem too off. He's quieter, yeah, and he goes to bed early, but that's about it. 

They fly back to London the next morning, and they spend a few days there before Harry decides he wants to go back to Louis' apartment in Doncaster. 

Louis is surprised, and he lets out a quiet laugh. "You want to leave a house like this to go stay at a flat in Donny?"

"I like Doncaster," Harry says, frowning. "It's calmer than here, but not too calm. I don't know. We can stay here, if you want. Was just thinking, like. . . I really liked our time together in Doncaster. Feels like we relearned each other. You know, when I wasn't crawling out of my skin."

So they drive to Doncaster that night, and when they get home, Bongo and Louis both are a bit sick of travelling. The three of them feel settled here, though. More than anywhere else, more than any other time in their lives before.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys liked it. been going through a tough time these last few days and getting another story posted as been a good distraction :))


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